UNIVERSITY  OF  CALIFORNIA 
AT   LOS  ANGELES 


Pioneers  of  Southern 
Literature. 


BY  SAMUEL  ALBERT  LINK. 


VOLUME  II. 


NASHVILLE,  TENN.;  DALLAS,  TEX.: 

PUBLISHING  HOUSE  M.  E.  CHURCH,  SOUTH. 

BARBEE  &  SMITH,  AGENTS. 

1900. 


COPYRIGHT,  1900, 

BY 
BARBEE  &  SMITH,  AGENTS. 


TS 

•s&l 


Contents. 

Page 

EDGAR  ALLAN  POE:  A  GENIUS  IN 
STORY  AND  SONG  ......  285 

WAR  POETS  OF  THE  SOUTH.  SING 
ERS  ON  FIRE 335 

SINGERS  IN  VARIOUS  KEYS:  JOHN  R. 
THOMPSON,  JAMES  BARRON  HOPE, 
HENRY  LYNDEN  FLASH,  AND  OTH 
ERS  385 

SOUTHERN  HUMORISTS:  LONG- 
STREET,  BALDWIN,  HOOPER,  W. 
T.  THOMPSON,  DAVY  CROCKETT, 
AND  OTHERS 465 

POLITICAL  WRITERS  AND  HISTO 
RIANS  549 


Elian  poe. 


IN  the  summer  of  1833  Mr.  Lam 
bert  A.  Wilmer,  proprietor  of 
the  Baltimore  Saturday  Vis 
itor,  offered  two  prizes  as  follows  : 
for  the  best  tale  in  prose,  one  hun 
dred  dollars  ;  for  the  best  poem, 
fifty  dollars.  Among  the  tales  sub 
mitted,  was  a  collection  of  half 
a  dozen  neatly  written  in  a  small 
volume,  and  entitled  "  Tales  of  the 
Folio  Club."  These  proved  so  en 
thralling  that,  it  is  said,  the  com 
mittee  of  award  read  the  entire 
number  from  beginning  to  end,  and 
found  their  only  difficulty  in  choos 
ing  which  of  the  six  should  be  en 
titled  to  the  premium.  Finally,  one 
of  these,  entitled  "  MS.  Found 
in  a  Bottle,"  was  adjudged  wor 
thy  not  only  of  the  prize  but  also 
of  a  certificate  of  flattering  praise. 
285 


Edgar  Bllan  poe. 

"  The  Coliseum  "  was  awarded  the 
second  prize  as  the  best  poem,  but 
when  this  was  found  to  be  the  work 
of  the  same  writer  the  second  award 
was  transferred  to  another  compet 
itor.  The  judges  in  this  contest 
were  Dr.  J.  H.  Miller,  J.  H.  B.  La- 
trobe,  Esq.,  and  John  P.  Kennedy, 
Esq.,  the  author  of  "  Swallow  Barn.'" 
The  author  of  the  prize  tale  proved 
to  be  a  stranger  to  the  committee. 
The  publication  of  the  report  of  the 
committee  led  to  an  interview  be 
tween  Mr.  Kennedy  and  the  un 
known  author,  Mr.  Edgar  Allan 
Poe.  Of  this  meeting  we  get  the 
following  account  in  Tuckerman's 
"Life  of  Kennedy."  "The  prize 
money  had  not  been  paid,  and  he 
was  in  the  costume  in  which  he  had 
answered  the  advertisement  of  his 
good  fortune.  Thin  and  pale  even 
to  ghastliness,  his  whole  appearance 
indicated  sickness  and  the  utmost 
destitution.  A  well-worn  frock  coat 
concealed  the  want  of  a  shirt,  and 
286 


Bllan  ipoe. 


imperfect  boots  disclosed  the  ab 
sence  of  hose.  But  the  eyes  of  the 
young  man  were  luminous  with  in 
telligence  and  feeling,  and  his  voice, 
conversation,  and  manners,  all  won 
upon  the  lawyer's  regard."  The 
story  goes  that  Mr.  Kennedy  not 
only  advanced  the  means  for  much 
needed  clothing,  but  availed  to  se 
cure  literary  hack  work  for  him  at 
Baltimore,  at  length  securing  for 
him  admission  to  the  columns  of 
the  Southern  Literary  Messenger, 
which  was  established  at  Richmond, 
Va.,  August,  1834,  by  Mr.  Thomas 
W.  White,  and  of  which  Mr.  Poe 
became  assistant  editor  in  Novem 
ber,  1835.  This  is  the  introduction 
to  the  world  of  literature  of  the  un 
fortunate  but  gifted  Edgar  Allan 
Poe,  who  in  the  originating  power 
of  his  genius  stands  preeminent  and 
unique  among  American  men  of 
letters. 

When  we  seek  to  learn  his  history 
and  understand  his  gifts  we  are  met 
287 


EDgar  Sllan  poe. 

upon  the  threshold  of  the  subject  by 
a  decided  and  ofttimes  angry  va 
riance  among  those  who  have  at 
tempted  to  set  forth  the  facts  of  his 
life  and  assign  his  works  a  proper 
position  in  the  field  of  literature.  A 
few  of  his  critics  are,  no  doubt,  too 
laudatory ;  on  the  other  hand,  some 
have  shown  a  lack  of  comprehen 
sion  and  a  meanness  of  spirit  al 
most  marvelous  beyond  belief.  From 
Griswold  to  Thomas  Dunn  English, 
those  who  have  found  everything 
to  censure  and  little  to  praise  have 
shown  a  virulence  hardly  to  be 
found  in  the  discussions  concerning 
any  other  character  in  literature. 
However,  this  bitterness  of  spirit 
has  not  been  without  its  advantage 
to  his  name  and  fame,  since  many 
who  knew  him  best  were  led  to 
speak  in  his  behalf  before  it  was  too 
late.  More  has  been  written  of  him 
than  of  any  other  American  writer. 
Walter  Scott's  schoolmaster  would 
have  been  forgotten  long  ago  but 
288 


BUan  f>oc. 


for  the  fact  that  he  called  the  Wiz 
ard  of  the  North  a  dunce,  so  Gris- 
wold  would  hardly  remain  a  mem 
ory  but  for  the  fact  that  he  wreaked 
his  hate  upon  the  dead  in  the  shape 
of  a  biography  of  Poe.  Neverthe 
less,  he  and  his  successors  have 
failed  to  mar  the  continued  growth 
of  Mr.  Poe's  fame.  His  foibles 
have  been  held  up  to  censure,  and 
his  faults  —  he  had  one  which  be 
came  his  master  —  have  been  paraded 
as  if  these  would  utterly  invalidate 
his  claims  to  genius.  This  has  not 
always  originated  from  the  fact  that 
these  self-constituted  censors  have 
despised  his  faults  above  those  of 
others.  The  man  who  does  not 
take  his  literary  values  from  his 
cotemporaries  must  ever  appear  to 
them  as  erratic  and  perverse,  nor 
can  they  have  any  conception  of  his 
genius,  but  in  many  instances  and 
on  the  most  petty  pretexts  deny  to 
him  any  such  creative  force.  The 
blazing  comet  that  burns  its  way 
S  289 


Hilan  pee. 


through  our  system  is  ever  a  mys 
terious  visitant.  No  laws  belong 
ing  to  less  eccentric  bodies  are 
known  to  apply  to  its  weird  move 
ments.  From  what  vast  cavern  of 
the  universe  has  it  come?  In  the 
conflagration  of  what  worlds  have 
its  fires  been  lighted,  and  in  what 
unknown  ocean  of  space  shall  they 
be  extinguished?  These  seem  des 
tined  ever  to  be  questions  of  specu 
lation  not  unmixed  with  wonder  and 
awe.  No  more  can  the  laws  which 
govern  genius  in  its  advent  and  des 
tiny  be  understood  by  those  outside 
the  pale  of  its  splendor.  Cavilers 
have  found  enough  worthy  of  cen 
sure  in  Poe's  life,  for  his  literature 
was  based  on  better  principles  than 
his  life,  but  none  of  them  in  their 
own  efforts  have  made  any  approach 
to  the  originating  genius  and  dis 
criminating  care  shown  in  his  art. 

While  Poe  died  poor  and  appar 
ently  forsaken  nearly  fifty  years  ago, 
his  is  the  one  name  which  ranks  all 
290 


BUan 

others  in  the  European  estimate 
of  American  literature.  Of  two 
names  sometimes  mentioned  in  con 
nection,  Hawthorne  excels  in  touch 
of  human  sympathy,  but  Poe  is 
superior  in  creative  and  structural 
ability.  The  directing  hand  of  power 
and  the  poetic  touch  of  beauty  are 
continually  discerned  in  Poe's  best 
tales.  Both  he  and  Hawthorne  bor 
rowed  much  of  the  Erebuslike 
shade  of  Charles  Brockden  Browne, 
but  "The  Fall  of  the  House  of 
Usher  "  excels  all  known  pictures  in 
its  spectacle  of  inevitable  ruin. 

Various  and  conflicting  statements 
have  been  published  in  regard  to  al 
most  all  the  ordinary  facts  of  Poe's 
life.  If  we  follow  these  curiously 
wrought  histories,  we  find  that 
this  ill-fated  child  of  genius  was 
born  in  1811,  in  1809,  on  January 
19,  on  February  19,  at  Baltimore, 
at  Boston,  that  he  quitted  the  Uni 
versity  of  Virginia  with  highest 
honor,  that  he  was  expelled,  that  he 
291 


Bllan  poe. 


started  to  Greece  and  found  himself 
a  prisoner  in  Russia,  that  he  did  not 
go  to  Europe  at  that  time,  but  en 
listed  instead  in  the  United  States 
army  under  an  assumed  name  —  but 
these  discrepancies  might  be  contin 
ued  ad  libitum,  as  this  does  not  half 
exhaust  the  list.  Material  for  a  bi 
ography  was  put  into  the  hands  of 
Rufus  W.  Griswold,  who  soon 
proved  that  even  death  had  failed  to 
soften  a  former  enmity  which  Poe 
had  supposed  forgotten.  A  few 
days  after  Poe's  death  he  wrote  a 
notice  so  bitter  that  friends  came  to 
the  defense  of  the  dead  writer's 
name.  Possibly  these  were  not  al 
ways  judicious  in  the  choice  of  ex 
pressions.  At  any  rate  Griswold 
became  so  enraged  that  he  wrote 
a  biography  which  became  histor 
ical  for  its  falsehoods  and  vituper 
ation  ;  facts  were  suppressed,  and 
detrimental  incidents  invented. 
Such  of  Poe's  literary  remains  as 
have  not  been  destroyed  have  not 
292 


BDgar  Bllan  ipcc. 

yet  passed  into  the  hands  of  im 
partial  critics.  However,  many  of 
the  difficulties  have  in  a  measure 
been  removed  by  a  number  of  friends 
raised  up  by  the  very  bitterness  of 
the  Griswold  memoir.  There  has 
been  a  revival  of  Poe  cult  in  recent 
years,  and  with  that  a  disposition  here 
and  there  to  revive  old  slanders  by 
a  few  who  fear  that  efforts  to  whiten 
Poe  may  blacken  those  who  for 
merly  wrote  of  him  with  such  bitter 
ness. 

Mr.  Woodberry  has  written  the 
life  of  Poe  for  the  American  Men 
of  Letters  Series.  In  that  he  has 
succeeded  in  throwing  light  upon 
some  hitherto  obscure  parts  of  the 
life  of  this  "  Unlucky  Master." 
With  this  work  and  Ingram's  "  Life 
of  Poe "  before  me,  together  with 
sketches  by  Stoddard,  Stedman, 
Lowell,  Brander  Matthews,  Mrs. 
Susan  Archer  Talley  Weiss,  and  a 
dozen  others,  the  following  seems 
the  proper  outline  of  what  may  be 
293 


;62>0ar  aiian  ipoe. 

set  forth :  Edgar  Poe  was  born  in 
Boston  January  19,  1809.  He  was 
the  son  of  David  Poe,  a  young 
lawyer  who  had  married  an  Eng 
lish  actress  of  considerable  talent, 
having  previously  adopted  her  pro 
fession.  This  David  Poe  was  like 
wise  the  son  of  David  Poe  of 
Baltimore.  The  elder  David  was 
known  as  General  Poe,  on  ac 
count  of  an  honorable  part  taken  in 
the  War  for  Independence.  After 
the  birth  of  Edgar  his  parents,  who 
were  temporarily  at  Boston  in  the 
exercise  of  their  profession,  jour 
neyed  south  as  far  as  Richmond, 
where  his  mother  died  when  he  was 
three  years  old,  leaving  him,  an 
elder  brother,  and  a  younger  sister 
to  be  disposed  of  as  might  seem  be 
fitting  a  world  of  strangers.  The 
children  were  apportioned  out  to 
such  as  felt  charitably  inclined, 
young  Edgar  finding  favor  in  the 
eyes  of  the  young  and  childless  wife 
of  Mr.  John  Allan,  a  wealthy  to- 
294 


aiian  Poe. 


bacco-dealer  of  Richmond,  who 
had  emigrated  from  England. 
From  this  time  the  child  Edgar 
Poe  became  at  first  perhaps  Ed 
gar  Allan,  and  later  Edgar  Allan 
Poe.  He  was  brought  up  in  the 
luxuriance  of  wealth  as  the  child 
of  this  family.  No  money  seems  to 
have  been  spared  in  gratifying 
his  whims  or  giving  him  pleas 
ure.  The  memory  of  this  mu 
nificence  gnawed  upon  his  spirit 
when  he  became  an  outcast.  At  the 
age  of  six  we  are  told  this  preco 
cious  lad  could  read,  draw,  de 
claim,  dance,  and,  what  was  worse, 
by  at  least  one  account,  could  stand 
in  a  chair  and  pledge  the  company 
"  right  roguishly  "  in  a  glass  of  wine, 
thus  laying  the  foundation  for  so 
many  of  the  woes  by  which  he  was 
beset  and  sharpening  the  beak  of 
the  raven  which  was  to  pierce  his 
heart.  Mr.  Allan  spent  his  sum 
mers  for  a  few  years  at  White  Sul 
phur  Springs,  where  the  prettily 
295 


Edgar  BUan  poe. 

dressed,  handsome  boy  with  his 
pony  and  dogs  was  long  remem 
bered.  Mr.  Allan  returned  to  Eng 
land  for  a  time  about  1815,  and  the 
lad  was  placed  in  Manor  House 
school  at  Stoke-Newington,  a  suburb 
of  London,  there  to  remain  for  pos 
sibly  five  years.  Some  of  the  mem 
ories  of  that  school  were  afterward 
woven  into  that  wonderful  story, 
"  William  Wilson,"  which  brought 
a  new  theme  into  literature,  the 
idea  of  a  man  being  haunted  by  his 
double.  Hawthorne  in  "  Howe's 
Mask,"  and  Stevenson  in  "  Dr. 
Jeckel  and  Mr.  Hyde  "  have  availed 
themselves  of  the  same  weird  fancy 
in  somewhat  diverse  guise.  A  gen 
tleman  visiting  Stoke-Newington 
thinks  the  gloom  of  the  old  Quaker 
building  impressed  itself  upon  the 
spirit  of  the  boy  to  depart — never 
more.  In  August,  1820,  young 
Poe  entered  the  English  and  clas 
sical  school  of  Mr.  Joseph  H.  Clarke, 
of  Richmond,  Va. 
296 


2lUan 

Of  this  period  of  his  life  Col. 
J.  T.  L.  Preston,  the  husband  of 
Mrs.  Margaret  J.  Preston,  says : 
"  Edgar  Poe  might  have  been  at 
this  time  fifteen  or  sixteen,  he  being 
one  of  the  oldest  boys  in  the  school 
and  I  one  of  the  youngest.  His 
power  and  accomplishments  capti 
vated  me,  and  something  in  me  or  in 
him  made  him  take  a  fancy  to  me. 
In  the  simple  school  athletics  of 
those  days,  when  a  gymnasium  had 
not  been  heard  of,  he  was  facile 
princeps.  He  was  a  swift  runner, 
a  wonderful  leaper,  and,  what  was 
more  rare,  a  boxer,  with  some 
slight  training.  .  .  .  For  swim 
ming  he  was  noted,  being  in  many 
of  his  athletic  proclivities  surpri 
singly  like  Byron  in  his  youth. 
There  was  no  one  among  the  school 
boys  who  would  so  dare  in  the 
rapids  of  the  James  River."  An 
other  of  Poe's  schoolmates  recorded 
a  particular  feat  in  swimming  in 
which  he  swam  six  miles  against  a 
2  297 


EDgar  ZUlan  poe. 

tide  of  three  or  four  miles  per  hour. 
A  sensitive  morbidness  was  a  dis 
tinguishing  trait  through  life.  This 
often  rendered  him  unhappy  and 
produced  at  times  a  disposition  to 
turn  and  defy  not  only  his  foes  but 
likewise  those  who  sought  to  be  his 
friends.  There  is  a  passage  in 
Col.  Preston's  recollections  which 
gives  some  explanation  of  that 
phase  of  character.  Col.  Preston 
says :  "At  the  time  of  which  I 
speak,  Richmond  was  one  of  the 
most  aristocratic  cities  on  this  side  of 
the  Atlantic.  ...  A  school  is 
of  its  nature  democratic,  but  still, 
boys  will  unconsciously  bear  about 
the  odor  of  their  fathers'  notions, 
good  or  bad.  Of  Edgar  Poe  it  was 
known  that  his  parents  had  been 
players,  and  that  he  was  dependent 
upon  the  bounty  that  is  bestowed 
upon  an  adopted  son.  All  this  had 
the  effect  of  making  the  boys  de 
cline  his  leadership ;  and  on  looking 
back  on  it  since,  I  fancy  it  gave  him 
298 


BHan  fi>oe. 


a  fierceness  he  would  not  otherwise 
have  had."  Yet  the  same  narrator 
tells  of  his  superior  scholarship, 
which  ordinarily  would  have  brought 
leadership.  The  same  resentment 
against  humanity  in  general  was 
naturally  excited  in  later  years  when 
he  so  often  found  men  of  far  less 
ability  occupy  ing  positions  of  greater 
honor  and  profit,  while  those  dear 
to  him  were  suffering  the  pangs  of 
cold  and  hunger.  Need  it  be  a 
matter  of  surprise  that  as  a  critic  he 
waged  fierce  war  upon  mediocrity 
to  an  extent  that  sometimes  assumed 
the  appearance  of  personal  spite? 
We  have  only  to  read  some  of  the 
names  which  came  under  his  pen 
to  realize  how  he  must  have  felt 
while  he  in  a  measure  effected  the 
dethronement  of  some  of  the  "  quacks 
of  Helicon."  The  records  show  Ed 
gar  A.  Poe  to  have  entered  the  Uni 
versity  of  Virginia  February  14, 
1826,  and  to  have  closed  his  connec 
tion  with  that  institution  December 
299 


SDgar  Bllan  poe. 

15  of  the  same  year.  Much  has 
been  written  of  his  connection  with 
the  university,  but  the  fact  re 
mains  that  his  standing  in  scholar 
ship  was  excellent,  that  he  had  no 
trouble  with  the  authorities,  and  that 
his  bust  occupies  a  central  position 
in  the  new  library.  There  is  a  tra 
dition  of  drinking  handed  down  by 
some  of  his  fellow  students,  and 
certain  gambling  debts  made  trouble 
with  his  foster-father.  Hands  of 
horror  have  been  held  up  over 
these  early  sins  to  an  extent  not 
thought  of  in  the  case  of  any  other 
author.  The  infirmities  of  genius 
have  been  the  plea  in  the  case  of 
Goldsmith,  Burns,  Byron,  et  omne 
id  genus.  At  that  period  the  side 
board  was  a  piece  of  furniture  in 
Virginia  not  yet  abolished.  Stod- 
dard  tells  us  that  drinking  was  all 
too  common  in  New  England  in  his 
boyhood.  Some  students  who  per 
haps  afterward  made  doctors  of 
divinity  and  good  bishops  yielded 
300 


BDgar  Bllan 

to  the  fascination  of  cards.  Of 
course  all  that  has  passed  away  in 
universities,  and  the  Poe  of  seventy 
years  ago  is  judged  by  present 
standards.  One  point  is  certain  :  he 
thought  even  gambling  debts  should 
be  paid,  but  therein  is  shown  the 
difference  between  an  adopted  and 
a  real  son.  Had  Poe  been  the  son 
of  the  rich  merchant,  the  debts 
would  have  been  paid,  and  the  fact 
of  their  making  would  not  have 
been  bruited  over  the  world.  The 
result  was  that  the  boy  who  had 
been  petted  and  spoiled  as  the  heir 
of  a  rich  man  became  an  outcast  and 
a  wanderer  without  knowledge  of 
business  or  means  of  support. 

Much  has  been  said  against  Poe 
to  justify  the  procedure  of  Mr. 
Allan  in  all  matters  relating  to  him 
in  subsequent  time.  During  the 
academic  days  in  Richmond,  and 
during  his  student  career  at  the  uni 
versity,  the  youth  had  shown  his 
proclivities  for  writing  verse.  A 
2  301 


EDgar  BHan  IPoe. 

strange,  romantic  spirit  had  revealed 
itself  even  then.  The  mother  of 
one  of  his  young  friends  had  spoken 
kindly  to  the  orphan  boy,  and  had 
thus  so  won  upon  his  susceptible 
heart  that,  when  she  died  not  long 
after,  her  grief-stricken  admirer 
would  spend  hours  at  her  grave  on 
the  most  dismal  of  nights.  We 
see  thus  early  something  of  the 
bent  of  mind  which  produced  cre 
ations  of  spiritual  darkness  and  ter 
ror. 

From  Richmond  Poe  proceeded 
at  once  to  Boston,  and  brought  out 
a  small  volume  of  poems  which 
would  have  been  forgotten  but  for 
his  subsequent  career.  Shortly  after 
this  event,  which  occurred  in  1827, 
he  disappeared,  and  his  whereabouts 
was  long  a  mystery.  Poe  himself 
threw  an  air  of  mystery  over  the 
affair.  Mr.  Woodberry  finds  that, 
moved  perhaps  by  his  inability  to  se 
cure  bread  otherwise,  he  enlisted  in 
the  United  States  army  May  26, 
302 


BDgar  Bllan  jpoe. 

1827,  and  prompted,  no  doubt,  by 
deeply  wounded  pride,  he  gave  his 
name  as  Edward  A.  Perry.  A  fine 
report  is  given  of  his  sobriety  and 
attention  to  duty  while  in  the  army. 
So  faithful  was  he  that  he  was  made 
sergeant-major  in  January,  1829. 
The  officers  of  his  acquaintance 
were  solicitous  that  he  should  have 
the  advantage  of  a  course  at  West 
Point,  as  that  is  the  only  door  to 
promotion  in  time  of  peace.  Mrs. 
Allan  died  about  that  time,  and  Mr. 
Allan,  having  learned  of  the  situa 
tion  of  his  former  charge,  in  the 
hour  of  his  grief  invited  Edgar,  who 
was  then  at  Fortress  Monroe,  to  vis 
it  his  home  on  furlough.  Mr.  Allan 
and  his  friends  set  about  procuring 
the  young  soldier's  discharge  and 
admission  to  West  Point.  The  dis 
charge  was  procured  April  15,  1829, 
and  he  entered  West  Point  July  i, 
1830.  Not  long  after  it  was  evident 
no  more  could  be  expected  from 
his  former  patron,  who  took  unto 
303 


Bllan  ipoe. 


himself  a  young  wife.  Perry,  the 
soldier,  might  drill  and  earn  promo 
tion  ;  but  Poe,  the  poet,  found  mili 
tary  affairs  not  to  his  taste.  He 
sought  release,  but  could  not  pro 
cure  it  without  the  consent  of  Mr. 
Allan,  who  was  registered  as  his 
guardian.  This  was  refused,  al 
though  Poe  was  now  over  twenty- 
one  years  of  age  —  in  fact,  no  doubt 
with  Mr.  Allan's  connivance,  his 
age  had  been  put  back  to  effect  his 
entrance  into  the  military  institute. 
No  recourse  was  left  except  to  de 
cline  such  duties  as  would  make  it 
necessary  for  the  authorities  to  dis 
miss  the  refractory  cadet.  This 
course  he  pursued  in  January,  1831, 
mainly  between  the  yth  and  27th. 
He  was  dismissed,  to  take  effect  on 
the  6th  of  March.  There  must 
have  been  no  feeling  against  him, 
as  the  cadets  were  allowed  to  sub 
scribe  for  the  volume  of  his  poems 
which  he  proposed  to  issue.  They 
had  expected  numerous  squibs  of  a 
304 


2lllan  poe. 


local  nature  to  be  included,  but  Poe 
could  not  trifle  with  his  art. 

The  poems  issued  in  New  York 
in  1831  were  not  of  the  kind  to  be 
appreciated  by  a  cadet  of  that  date, 
nor  did  they  token  the  finished 
musical  lyrics  to  emanate  later  from 
the  same  pen.  Yet  a  judge  might 
have  seen  glimmerings  of  the  fires 
of  inspiration  hereafter  to  burn. 
Besides,  one  of  his  finest  poems, 
"  To  Helen,"  was  included  in  this 
thin  volume.  Moreover,  what  ap 
peared  to  be  a  new  theory  of  poetry 
was  put  forth  in  a  rambling  intro 
duction.  This  theory  was  thereaft 
er  more  fully  elaborated  but  never 
changed.  This  laid  the  foundation 
of  a  lecture  entitled  "The  Poetic 
Principle,"  which  may  be  expressed 
in  brief  as  follows  :  "  Poetry  is 
rhythmical  creation  of  beavity.  The 
pleasure  derived  from  the  contem 
plation  of  beauty  is  the  object  to  be 
attained  in  every  poem.  This  mani 
festation  of  beauty  is  to  be  found  in 
20  T  305 


'  an  elevating  excitement  of  the  soul.' 
As  truth  appeals  to  reason,  poetry 
appeals  to  '  the  human  aspiration 
for  supernal  beauty.'  Poetry  is  op 
posed  to  vice  on  account  of  its  de 
formity,  its  hideousness,  its  dispro 
portion.  Poetry  is  designed  not  to 
teach  a  lesson  except  incidentally, 
which  is  often  more  effective  than 
direct  didacticism,  but  to  raise  a 
pleasurable  emotion.  As  any  such 
emotion  can  only  be  short-lived,  no 
poem  can  be  long,  and  the  long 
poems  which  have  become  a  per 
manent  part  of  literature  are  really 
a  succession  of  short  poems  woven 
together."  Poe's  theory  has  been 
much  derided,  but  with  some  modi 
fications  would  hardly  be  rejected 
now.  Sidney  Lanier  did  not  differ 
widely  in  his  "  Beauty  Is  Holiness, 
and  Holiness  Is  Beauty."  The 
principle  of  poetry  thus  propounded 
by  a  mere  youth  has  won  a  place 
among  the  laws  of  literature.  The 
poet  did  not  always  follow  his  own 
306 


Bllan  iPoe. 


principle,  since  he  seems  often  to 
nave  sought  to  produce  a  picture  of 
ruin,  terror,  or  despair,  rather  than 
an  emotion  derived  from  a  contem 
plation  of  beauty. 

Where  Poe  spent  the  two  years 
after  the  publication  of  his  poems 
has  never  been  ascertained.  Haw 
thorne  is  said  to  have  spent  twelve 
lonely  years  in  learning  to  gage 
and  direct  his  powers,  but  where 
Poe  learned  that  lesson  we  may 
never  know,  as  some  of  his  best 
tales  were  among  his  earliest.  The 
next  we  know  of  him  he  is  in  Bal 
timore,  as  we  have  seen,  with  six  fin 
ished  tales,  and  perhaps  others  in 
embryo,  while  little  more  than  two 
years  have  elapsed  since  he  left 
West  Point.  During  that  time  he 
has  been  without  literary  friends  or 
associates.  Usually  those  who  have 
written  have  been  more  or  less  in 
an  atmosphere  of  letters.  With  him 
we  know  this  could  not  have  been 
true. 

307 


EDgar  Bllan  poe. 

Passing  over  the  prize  story  and 
his  appointment  as  editor  at  Rich 
mond,  it  is  sufficient  to  say  that  his 
salary  was  $520  per  year,  and  that 
he  found  the  Southern  Literary 
Messenger  with  five  hundred  sub 
scribers,  and  in  a  few  months  brought 
the  list  up  to  five  thousand.  During 
this  time  he  was  married  to  his 
cousin,  Virginia  Clemm,  a  beautiful 
girl  of  only  fourteen  or  fifteen  years 
of  age.  Like  his  father's,  it  was  a 
love-match. 

Poe  was  the  first  to  lift  literary 
criticism  out  of  the  sugar-plum 
surroundings  which  encumbered  it 
in  America.  The  coterie  of  the 
best  New  England  writers  were 
said  to  be  "  insured  in  the  mu 
tual."  If  one  wrote  a  poem,  essay, 
or  tale,  the  others  praised.  These 
were  secure  in  their  fame,  at  least 
temporarily ;  but  Poe  never  loved 
Boston,  nor  did  Boston  love  Poe. 
Some  of  his  lack  of  recognition  in 
his  lifetime  was  caused  thereby,  yet 
308 


2Ulan  ipoe. 


there  were  many  lesser  lights  scat 
tered  throughout  the  domain  of  the 
Union  whose  friends  had  praised 
until  any  pretense  at  writing  stood 
for  good  literature  as  heralded  by  a 
ready  chorus.  Poe  seized  a  keen 
rapier  and  began  the  work  of  punc 
turing  these  pretenders.  So  little 
was  known  of  the  province  of  true 
criticism  that  these  reviews  were 
often  resented  as  personal  attacks  *, 
but  this  new  Daniel  come  to  judg 
ment  loved  a  wholesome  row,  hence 
the  work  of  flaying  went  bravely 
forward.  It  has  been  claimed  that 
adverse  criticism  never  freed  the 
fields  of  literature  of  any  meretri 
cious  weeds,  but  at  least  the  labeling 
of  the  fruit-bearing  plant  enables 
men  to  recognize  and  shun  the  weed. 
Healthy  criticism  enlightens  public 
sentiment,  and  makes  possible  a  vig 
orous  and  healthy  literature.  Poe 
did  much  in  his  editorial  capacity  at 
Richmond,  Philadelphia,  and  New 
York  to  prepare  the  soil  for  the  bet- 
309 


BHan 

ter  recent  growth.  Not  that  he  was 
always  free  from  personal  bias  ;  not 
that  all  the  women  writers,  particu 
larly  poets,  whom  he  praised  were 
really  inspired,  but  he  had  principles 
upon  which  he  felt  just  criticism 
must  be  based,  and  he  did  not  hesi 
tate  to  apply  these  principles  to  the 
work  of  friend  or  foe.  Nothing 
like  this  had  been  known  in  Amer 
ica  before.  Poe  was  the  true  pio 
neer  in  literary  criticism  on  this  side 
of  the  water. 

The  connection  of  Poe  with 
the  Southern  Literary  Messenger 
closed  in  January,  1837.  The  cause 
has  never  been  fully  explained.  At 
a  later  period  he  wrote  for  the  Mes 
senger ,  and  Mr.  White  seems  to 
have  continued  to  be  his  friend.  A 
letter  written  by  Mr.  White  to  Poe 
at  an  earlier  time  evidently  refers 
to  the  fact  that  his  editor  had  in 
dulged  in  drink  with  certain  Rich 
mond  companions,  and  he  is  advised 
to  choose  other  friends,  but  this  was 
310 


BDgar  Bllan  IPoe. 

evidently  previous  to  Poe's  mar 
riage.  Not  a  word  against  him  did 
Mr.  White  ever  utter  or  write. 
Rev.  Francis  L.  Hawks,  of  North 
Carolina,  had  established  the  New 
York  Review  and  is  said  to  have  in 
vited  Poe  to  become  its  editor.  New 
York  even  then  must  have  appeared 
to  the  rising  young  writer  a  better 
field  than  Richmond,  yet  the  Re 
view  had  closed  its  inauspicuous  ca 
reer  before  his  arrival. 

During  the  respite  from  editorial 
work  Poe  wrote  "Arthur  Gordon 
Pym,"  which  was  published  by  the 
Harpers  in  1838. 

In  addition  to  this,  the  text-book 
on  "  Conchology  "  was  published 
the  next  year.  This  has  been  the 
subject  of  much  animadversion,  but 
seems  to  have  differed  little  in  its 
preparation  from  many  of  the  text 
books  of  to-day,  though  it  must  be 
confessed  few  of  these  are  prepared 
by  men  of  literary  ability.  During 
this  time  he  contributed  to  a  few 
311 


Sllan  poe. 


Poe  became  editor  of  Graham's 
Magazine  in  January,  1841.  Mr. 
Graham  seems  to  have  been  a  true 
gentleman  and  to  have  appreciated 
the  talents  of  his  editor.  Not  only 
that,  but  none  labored  harder  to  free 
from  aspersions  the  name  of  this 
unfortunate  genius,  after  his  death. 
The  magazine  prospered  under  this 
management.  There  were  eight 
thousand  subscribers  in  January, 
1841  ;  in  July,  seventeen  thousand; 
in  December,  twenty-five  thousand  ; 
and  in  March,  1842,  forty  thousand. 
During  the  spring  Poe  returned 
after  a  brief  absence,  and  found 
Rufus  Griswold  occupying  his  chair. 
The  arrangement  was  to  have  been 
temporary,  but  the  sensitive  nature 
of  Poe  was  wounded  and  he  never 
again  occupied  the  editorial  chair  of 
the  magazine,  though  he  afterward 
wrote  for  it  and  assisted  in  its  make 
up.  In  Griswold  he  had  met  his 
evil  fate.  For  a  time  they  were 
friends,  but  when  Poe  criticized 
314 


Bllan  ipoe. 


Griswold's  compilations  as  he  usu 
ally  criticized  poor  work  that  rev 
erend  gentleman  became  his  ene 
my  with  a  hate  which  has  covered 
his  own  name  with  odium.  Poe 
had  ever  hoped  to  start  a  mag 
azine  of  his  own,  hence  he  read 
ily  broke  with  those  whose  pub 
lications  he  had  helped  to  render 
successful  ;  besides,  at  the  best  his 
salary  was  never  large  enough  to 
drive  the  wolf  far  from  his  door. 
Some  of  his  best  tales  were  pub 
lished  in  Graham;  but  the  work 
which  brought  him  most  into  notice 
was  his  pungent,  but,  for  the  most 
part,  highly  intellectual  reviews  of 
the  literary  efforts  of  the  time. 
Even  in  Poe's  day  it  took  money  to 
float  a  monthly,  and,  though  this 
remained  the  dream  of  his  life,  he 
found  himself  unable  to  proceed, 
even  after  the  repeated  publication 
of  a  prospectus. 

From  various  sources  we  get  from 
time    to    time    agreeable    views  of 
315 


Elian  poc. 


Poe's  home  life.  Of  this  period  of 
his  life  at  Philadelphia,  Woodberry 
says  :  "  Whatever  practical  difficul' 
ties  it  was  his  lot  to  encounter,  no 
shadow  had  crossed  the  threshold 
of  the  little  Cottage  where  he  lived 
with  his  wife  and  her  mother  in  a 
close  privacy  of  watchful  love  and 
domestic  happiness.  Mrs.  Clemm, 
a  vigorous  woman  of  about  fifty 
years  who  is  said  to  have  had  the 
face,  size,  and  figure  of  a  man,  was 
the  head  of  the  household,  received 
and  expended  Poe's  wages,  and  kept 
things  in  order.  The  few  acquaint 
ances  who  called  on  the  family 
sometimes  wondered,  as  did  Mayne 
Reid,  how  this  masculine  matron 
should  have  been  the  mother  of  the 
fragile  girl,  still  under  twenty-one, 
whose  feminine  beauty  and  charm 
was  of  so  delicate  an  order  that 
she  seems  nearly  as  sylphlike  as 
one  of  Poe's  imaginary  creations." 
"  She  hardly  looked  more  than  four 
teen,"  writes  Mr.  A.  B.  Harris,  who 
316 


Bllan  fcoe. 


knew  her  at  this  time,  "  fair,  soft, 
graceful,  and  girlish.  Every  one 
who  saw  her  was  won  by  her.  Poe 
was  very  proud  and  very  fond  of 
her,  and  used  to  delight  in  the 
round,  childlike  face,  and  plump  lit 
tle  finger  (sic.  Q.  figure?),  which  he 
contrasted  with  himself,  so  thin  and 
half-melancholy  looking,  and  she  in 
turn  idolized  him.  She  had  a  voice 
of  wonderful  sweetness,  and  was  an 
exquisite  singer,  and  in  some  of 
their  more  prosperous  days,  when 
they  were  living  in  a  pretty  little 
rose-covered  cottage  on  the  outskirts 
of  Philadelphia,  she  had  her  harp 
and  piano.  The  third  member  of 
this  strangely  consorted  group,  Poe 
himself,  was  the  same  reserved,  iso 
lated,  dreamy  man  of  high-strung 
nerves,  proud  spirit,  and  fantastic 
moods  that  he  had  been  in  youth. 
With  senses  excessively  acute  and  a 
mind  easily  accessible  to  motives  of 
dread,  if  he  was  noc  the  monomaniac 
of  fear  he  knew  in  Roderick  Usher, 
317 


Hllan  poe. 


he  was  always  haunted  by  sugges 
tions  of  evil  to  come  ;  nor  was  he 
quite  free  from  the  vague  apprehen 
sion  that  belongs  to  children's  minds. 
He  did  not  like  to  go  out  in  the 
dark,  and,  with  such  jocularity  as  he 
was  capable  of,  said  that  he  believed 
evil  demons  had  power  then.  In 
his  home  alone  he  found  happiness, 
affection,  and  a  refuge  from  contact 
with  the  world." 

Another  disaster  was  soon  to  fol 
low.  Mrs.  Poe,  while  singing  one 
evening,  ruptured  a  blood-vessel,  and 
life  was  despaired  of  at  first,  then 
hope  revived,  only  to  increase  the 
pangs  of  disappointment  as  she  grew 
weaker.  The  alternating  between 
hope  and  despair  drove  Poe  to 
frenzy  —  to  frequent  returns  of  the 
drink  habit.  He  was  unable  to 
write,  and  his  wife  was  in  need  of 
comforts  which  he  was  unable  to  pro 
vide.  An  appeal  to  literary  friends 
was  made,  which  his  sensitive  nature 
resented.  When  she  appeared  bet- 
318 


2Ulan  jpoe. 


ter,  hope  revived,  and,  perhaps  in 
search  of  a  larger  field,  he  went  to 
New  York,  whither  his  literary  rep 
utation  had  preceded  him.  This 
change  of  residence  was  made  in 
1844. 

His  means  of  support  during  these 
several  months  of  transition  had 
been  meager.  The  Dollar  News 
paper  had  offered  a  prize  of  one 
hundred  dollars  for  a  story.  Poe 
won  this  with  "The  Gold  Bug." 
Many  of  his  stories  remained  in  the 
hands  of  editors  unpublished. 

N.  P.  Willis  was  the  proprietor 
of  a  daily  paper,  the  Evening  Mir 
ror.  During  the  latter  part  of  the 
year  we  find  Poe  at  work  upon  this 
paper.  Willis  greatly  approved  of 
his  work  and  conduct,  nor  did  any 
one  write  of  Poe  after  his  death  in 
a  more  appreciative  way  than  Willis. 

Something  happened  now  which 

brought  all  bis  delayed  articles  and 

tales   out    of    editor's    pigeonholes. 

"  The  Raven  "  was  published  in  the 

319 


EDgac  SUan 

Evening  Mirror  January  29,  1845. 
The  poem  had  been  published  from 
advanced  sheets  of  the  American 
Whig  Review,  in  which  it  appeared 
in  February.  No  poem  ever  met 
with  more  immediate  favor.  All 
over  the  land  there  was  a  snipping 
of  editorial  shears.  "  The  Raven  " 
was  the  bird  of  the  hour,  and  the 
author  found  himself  famous.  He 
was  the  lion  of  the  season.  A  lec 
ture  in  New  York  followed.  His 
rapidly  failing  wife  and  himself  be 
gan  to  meet  many  of  the  literary 
people,  some  of  whom,  like  Mrs. 
Osgood,  became  life  friends.  But 
"  The  Raven "  brought  him  very 
little  money,  and  the  Evening  Mir 
ror  continued  for  a  time  to  claim  his 
attention. 

In  the  brief  space  allotted  to  this 
sketch,  only  a  mere  outline  of  his 
further  movements  can  be  given. 
March  8,  1845,  ^e  became  joint 
editor  of  the  Broadway  Journal. 
Later  he  became  sole  editor,  and  in 
320 


Bllan  ipoe* 


November,  proprietor.  The  Jour 
nal  soon  attracts  attention,  but  the 
proprietor  is  in  debt  and  the  Journal 
suspends.  In  the  meantime  "  The 
Raven,  and  Other  Poems  "  is  pub 
lished  in  New  York  and  London. 
"The  Literati  of  New  York,"  be 
gun  in  Godey*s  Lady's  Book  in  1846, 
made  the  author  many  enemies, 
largely  because  the  truth  may  prove 
disagreeable. 

The  cottage  at  Fordham  became 
the  home  of  the  Poes  in  the  sum 
mer  of  1846.  This  was  some  dis 
tance  out  of  New  York  then,  but  is 
in  the  city  now.  Here  Mrs.  Poe 
died,  January  30,  1847.  ^  time  of 
sickness  and  desolation  followed, 
but  Mrs.  Clemm  clung  to  him  and 
took  care  of  him  as  best  she  was 
able.  Though  he  seems  to  have 
been  engaged  to  marry  Mrs.  Whit 
man,  a  New  England  poet,  and  pos 
sibly  at  a  later  period  Mrs.  Shel- 
ton,  of  Richmond,  after  the  death  of 
his  Tvife,  yet  he  never  really  recov- 
U  321 


Sllan  poe. 


ered  from  that  blow.  "  Eureka,"  a 
prose  poem,  was  published  in  1848. 
This  was  an  effort  to  expound  his 
theory  of  the  universe. 

He  lectured  in  various  places,  and 
departed  for  the  South  June  30,  1849. 
The  summer  and  autumn  were  spent 
in  Richmond,  where  he  at  first  had 
a  lapse  to  his  old  habit.  He  was 
warned  by  his  physicians  against  its 
repetition,  as  his  constitution  was 
greatly  impaired.  During  the  pro 
tracted  decline  of  his  wife,  if  not  be 
fore,  he  had  acquired  the  use  of 
opium.  These  habits,  with  want 
and  anxiety,  had  well-nigh  wrecked 
him.  During  the  stay  in  Richmond 
hope  seemed  to  rebloom.  One  of 
the  most  graceful  sketches  of  him 
by  any  pen  is  that  given  by  Mrs. 
Susan  Archer  Talley  Weiss.  Of  his 
appearance  and  conversation  at  that 
time,  she  says  :  "As  I  entered  the 
parlor,  Poe  was  seated  near  an  open 
window  quietly  conversing.  His  at 
titude  was  easy  and  graceful,  with 
322 


2lltan 

one  arm  lightly  resting  upon  the 
back  of  his  chair.  His  dark,  curl 
ing  hair  was  thrown  back  from  his 
broad  forehead — a  style  in  which  he 
habitually  wore  it.  At  sight  of  him, 
the  impression  produced  upon  me 
was  of  a  refined,  high-bred,  chival 
rous  gentleman.  I  use  this  word 
'  chivalrous  '  as  exactly  descriptive 
of  something  in  his  whole  personnel, 
distinct  from  either  polish  or  high 
breeding,  and  which,  though  in 
stantly  apparent,  was  yet  an  effect 
too  subtle  to  be  described.  He  rose 
on  my  entrance,  and,  other  visitors 
being  present,  stood  with  one  hand 
resting  on  the  back  of  his  chair, 
awaiting  my  greeting.  So  dignified 
was  his  manner,  so  reserved  his  ex 
pression,  that  I  experienced  an  in 
voluntary  recoil,  until  I  turned  to 
him  and  saw  his  eyes  suddenly 
brighten  as  I  offered  my  hand ; 
a  barrier  seemed  to  melt  between  us, 
and  I  felt  that  we  were  no  longer 
strangers.  .  .  .  And  as  himself 
323 


Bllan  poe. 


—  that  is,  as  he  appeared  to  me  in 
my  home  and  in  society  —  Poe  was 
preeminently  a  gentleman.  This 
was  apparent  in  everything  about 
him,  even  to  the  least  detail.  He 
dressed  always  in  black,  and  with 
faultless  taste  and  simplicity.  An 
indescribable  refinement  pervaded 
all  that  he  did  and  said.  His  gen 
eral  bearing  in  society,  especially  to 
ward  strangers,  was  quiet,  dignified, 
and  somewhat  reserved,  even  at  times 
unconsciously  approaching  hauteur. 
He  rarely  smiled,  and  never  laughed. 
When  pleased,  nothing  could  exceed 
the  charm  of  his  manner  —  to  his 
own  sex  cordial,  to  ladies  marked  by 
a  sort  of  chivalrous,  respectful  cour 
tesy.  I  was  surprised  to  find  that 
the  poet  was  not  the  melancholy 
person  I  had  unconsciously  pictured. 
On  the  contrary,  he  appeared,  ex 
cept  on  one  occasion,  invariably 
cheerful,  and  frequently  playful  in 
mood.  He  seemed  quietly  amused 
by  the  light-hearted  chat  of  the 
324 


2Ulan  poe. 


young  people  about  him,  and  often 
joined  them  in  humorous  repartee, 
sometimes  tinged  with  a  playful  sar 
casm.  Yet  he  preferred  to  sit  quietly 
and  listen  and  observe.  Nothing 
escaped  his  keen  observation." 

Here,  as  usual,  accounts  differ  as 
to  Foe's  intentions.  One  is  that 
he  meant  to  return  North  with 
renewed  purpose  to  found  the 
Stylus,  his  talked-of  magazine. 
The  other  is  that  he  arranged  to 
make  Richmond  his  future  home, 
and  started  on  his  return  North  to 
make  arrangements  to  that  effect. 
In  a  hospital  in  Baltimore  he  died, 
October  7,  1849.  He  had  been 
brought  to  the  hospital  in  an  in 
sensible  state,  and  the  full  particu 
lars  of  his  stay  in  that  city  will  per 
haps  never  be  known.  Sad  was 
his  fate,  no  matter  what  may  have 
brought  him  to  the  end. 

Edgar  Allan  Poe  was  truly  a  man 
of  letters.  No  other  pursuit  ever  en 
gaged  his  serious  attention.  There 
325 


poe. 


—  that  is,  as  he  appeared  to  me  in 
my  home  and  in  society  —  Poe  was 
preeminently  a  gentleman.  This 
was  apparent  in  everything  about 
him,  even  to  the  least  detail.  He 
dressed  always  in  black,  and  with 
faultless  taste  and  simplicity.  An 
indescribable  refinement  pervaded 
all  that  he  did  and  said.  His  gen 
eral  bearing  in  society,  especially  to 
ward  strangers,  was  quiet,  dignified, 
and  somewhat  reserved,  even  at  times 
unconsciously  approaching  hauteur. 
He  rarely  smiled,  and  never  laughed. 
When  pleased,  nothing  could  exceed 
the  charm  of  his  manner  —  to  his 
own  sex  cordial,  to  ladies  marked  by 
a  sort  of  chivalrous,  respectful  cour 
tesy.  I  was  surprised  to  find  that 
the  poet  was  not  the  melancholy 
person  I  had  unconsciously  pictured. 
On  the  contrary,  he  appeared,  ex 
cept  on  one  occasion,  invariably 
cheerful,  and  frequently  playful  in 
mood.  He  seemed  quietly  amused 
by  the  light-hearted  chat  of  the 
324 


2Ulan 

young  people  about  him,  and  often 
joined  them  in  humorous  repartee, 
sometimes  tinged  with  a  playful  sar 
casm.  Yet  he  preferred  to  sit  quietly 
and  listen  and  observe.  Nothing 
escaped  his  keen  observation." 

Here,  as  usual,  accounts  differ  as 
to  Poe's  intentions.  One  is  that 
he  meant  to  return  North  with 
renewed  purpose  to  found  the 
Stylus,  his  talked-of  magazine. 
The  other  is  that  he  arranged  to 
make  Richmond  his  future  home, 
and  started  on  his  return  North  to 
make  arrangements  to  that  effect. 
In  a  hospital  in  Baltimore  he  died, 
October  7,  1849.  He  had  been 
brought  to  the  hospital  in  an  in 
sensible  state,  and  the  full  particu 
lars  of  his  stay  in  that  city  will  per 
haps  never  be  known.  Sad  was 
his  fate,  no  matter  what  may  have 
brought  him  to  the  end. 

Edgar  Allan  Poe  was  truly  a  man 
of  letters.  No  other  pursuit  ever  en 
gaged  his  serious  attention.  There 
325 


auan 

is  something  knightly  in  his  strug 
gle  for  success  in  authorship  at  a 
time  when  few  Americans  had  the 
temerity  for  such  a  Jasonlike  ven 
ture. 

As  a  critic  Poe  often  saw  with 
almost  prophetic  eye.  While  their 
place  was  hardly  yet  secure,  he 
praised  Mrs.  Browning,  Lowell, 
and  Hawthorne.  Tennyson  he  early 
ranked  among  the  truly  noble  poets. 
While  he  charged  Longfellow  with 
plagiarism,  he  nevertheless  placed 
him  first  of  American  poets. 

Of  his  poetry,  Edmond  Gosse 
says  :  "  Poe  has  proved  himself  to 
be  the  '  Piper  of  Hamelin '  to  all 
later  English  poets.  From  Tenny 
son  to  Austin  Dobson,  there  is 
hardly  one  whose  verse-music  does 
not  show  traces  of  Poe's  influence." 
A  thin  volume  would  comprise  all 
his  poems,  but  these  have  an  excel 
lency  of  finish  seldom  attained. 
Poetry  he  declares  to  have  been 
with  him  a  passion  and  not  a  pur- 
326 


Hllan  pee. 


pose.  Yet  he  polished  and  rewrote 
as  few  poets  have  had  the  persist 
ency  to  do.  He  was  a  melodist  of 
the  highest  order,  and  married  his 
thought  to  the  richest  word-music. 
"  The  Bells,"  written  after  "  The 
Raven,"  must  be  placed  at  the  head 
of  all  successful  efforts  to  produce 
musical  effects  by  means  of  a  few 
words  of  similar  sound.  Since  he 
sought  to  produce  a  sudden  eleva 
tion  of  mind,  a  pleasurable  sensa 
tion  of  beauty,  his  poems  could  not 
be  long,  according  to  his  theory. 
Nor  did  he  in  a  single  instance  de 
part  from  the  poetic  principles  laid 
down  in  youth.  He  has  been  re 
garded  as  the  poet  of  a  single  mood. 
That  mood  is  one  of  sadness,  ruin, 
despair.  The  theme  upon  which  he 
made  many  variations  both  in  prose 
and  verse  is  the  death  of  a  beautiful 
woman.  Sometimes  he  couples  with 
this,  as  in  "  The  Raven,"  unending 
despair  ;  as  in  "  The  Fall  of  the 
House  of  Usher,"  ruin  physical  and 
327 


Bllan  poe. 


mental.  He  does  not  deal  with  peo 
ple  so  much  as  with  gnomes,  ghouls, 
dreams,  demons,  angels.  The  range 
is  narrow,  but  words  of  haunting 
melody  place  the  senses  under  a 
spell  until  we  seem  to  roam  with 
him  his  weird,  enchanted  realms. 
Stedman  says  :  "  Poe's  melodies  lure 
us  to  the  point  where  we  seem  to  hear 
angelic  lutes  and  citherns,  or  elfin 
instruments  that  make  music  in  '  the 
land  east  of  the  sun  and  west  of  the 
moon.'  The  enchantment  may  not 
be  that  of  Israfel,  nor  of  the  harper 
who  exorcised  the  evil  genius  of 
Saul,  but  it  is  at  least  that  of  some 
plumed  being  of  the  middle  air,  of  a 
charmer  charming  so  sweetly  that 
his  nvimbers  are  the  burden  of  mys 
tic  dreams."  To  most  persons  Poe 
is  a  poet  of  two  poems,  "  The  Ra 
ven  "  and  "  The  Bells."  "  Ulalune  " 
perhaps  ranks  next  to  these  two, 
though  "  The  Conqueror  Worm  " 
and  "  The  Haunted  Palace  "  are  al 
most  flawless  as  works  of  art.  "  The 
328 


BHan  poe. 


Sleeper,"  «  The  Valley  of  Unrest," 
«  The  City  in  the  Sea,"  «  To  One 
in  Paradise,"  are  among  the  poems 
which  can  not  perish.  The  beauti 
ful  lyric  "  Israfel  "  is  the  one  which 
has  no  touch  of  ruin.  Like  "  The 
Bells,"  "Annabel  Lee  "  was  written 
after  the  death  of  his  wife,  and  has 
been  supposed  to  enshrine  his  pas 
sionate  sorrow  for  the  one  above  all 
others  to  whom  his  soul  was  truly 
joined.  Poe  wrote  slowly  —  that  is, 
he  wrote  and  rewrote  the  same 
poem  or  tale  until  it  grew  into  a 
masterpiece  under  the  touch  of  the 
magician's  hand.  "  The  Raven  " 
has  been  a  subject  of  much  discus 
sion.  The  question  at  issue  is 
whether  the  poem  was  the  outburst 
of  despair,  as  he  wrote  it  while  his 
wife  was  slowly  sinking  and  he 
was  unable  either  to  provide  for  her 
necessities  or  to  break  away  from 
his  tormenting  appetite  for  drink, 
or  did  he  deliberately  set  himself  to 
the  task  of  working  out  a  particular 
4  329 


2Ulan 

effect?  The  latter  was  the  case  ac 
cording  to  his  own  testimony,  though 
the  impending  ruin  of  his  life  and 
hopes  made  the  sought-for  effect 
easier  of  attainment. 

Many  of  Poe's  tales  were  really 
poems  in  prose.  This  is  true  of 
"  The  Fall  of  the  House  of  Usher," 
"  Ligeia,"  "  Morella,"  and  "  William 
Wilson."  The  beauty-touches  of  a 
gifted  poet  are  upon  these  and  many 
others  of  his  tales.  When  we  read 
them  we  are  entranced  by  their 
mystic  spell  and  held  in  thrall  by  the 
genius  of  their  creator.  We  are 
lifted  into  an  enchanted  atmosphere, 
and  think  not  of  the  weaknesses  of 
the  artist,  but  of  the  nobility  of  his 
gifts.  Poe  is  said  to  have  originated 
the  detective  story  in  such  tales  as 
"The  Murders  in  the  Rue  Morgxie," 
"  The  Mystery  of  Marie  Roget," 
and  «  The  Purloined  Letter."  "Ar 
thur  Gordon  Pym  "  tells  his  adven 
tures  with  that  Defoelike  attention 
to  details  which  gives  a  verisimili- 
330 


Bllan  f>oe. 


tude  to  all  of  Poe's  stories.  "  The 
Descent  into  the  Maelstrom,"  "  The 
Black  Cat,"  and  some  others  run 
the  gamut  of  all  the  possibilities  of 
terror  and  horror.  "  Eureka,"  the 
last  written,  is  called  a  prose  poem, 
but  of  all  his  productions  contains 
the  least  poetry. 

Hawthorne  and  Poe  stand  at 
the  head  of  American  literature  in 
the  line  of  creative  ability.  The 
chosen  field  of  both  was  romance. 
Hawthorne,  as  said,  had  a  large 
sense  of  humor,  in  which  Poe  was 
somewhat  deficient.  Hawthorne, 
though  a  recluse  by  nature,  had 
finer  touches  of  human  sympathy. 
Poe  had  more  of  that  imagination 
which  bodies  forth  shapes  unknown 
from  airy  nothingness  and  clothes 
them  with  rarest  beauty.  In  struc 
ture  of  work,  in  painting  with  the 
rich  colors  of  the  South,  Poe  has 
never  been  excelled.  When  we 
would  classify  him,  we  may  men 
tion  Coleridge  and  others  as  similar 
331 


Bllan  poe. 


at  a  few  points,  but  the  author  of 
"  The  Raven  "  and  "  The  Fall  of 
the  House  of  Usher  "  stands  alone. 
His  \vorks  are  unique  and  original. 
As  to  his  personality,  his  doom 
was  ever  upon  him.  Perhaps  with 
an  inherited  taint  of  intemperance 
inflamed  by  indulgence  in  early 
childhood,  escape  was  well-nigh  im 
possible.  He  deplored  his  misfor 
tunes,  and  ever  sought  to  break  the 
chain.  He  was  not  a  habitual 
drunkard,  but  prevailed  against  him 
self  for  long  periods.  Lack  of  will 
was  his  ruin.  A  single  glass  of 
wine  threw  him  into  a  frenzy,  and 
at  times  he  seemed  unable  to  resist 
that  glass.  Like  most  men  of  simi 
lar  habits,  he  often  deceived  himself, 
hence  sometimes  failed  in  his  prom 
ises  and  deceived  his  friends.  A 
delicate  child  of  poetry  toiling  in  a 
rude,  coarse,  unpoetic  age,  for  a 
small  pittance  ;  a  painstaking  writer, 
whose  literary  conscience  would  not 
allow  him  to  slight  even  his  edito- 
332 


BDgar  2Ulan 

rial  works,  dying  with  his  work  in 
complete,  he  produced  only  about 
forty  poems  and  sixty  tales.  In 
temperance  did  not  in  his  case  carry 
with  it  the  usual  train  of  evils,  hence 
he  was  not  a  man  of  immoral  habits. 
Those  who  knew  him  best  praised 
him  most,  though  the  preponder 
ance  of  evidence  is  that  he  was  al 
ways  unduly  restless,  often  selfish 
and  forgetful  of  the  feelings  of 
others.  That  he  was  at  times  too 
sensitive  to  be  helped  even  by 
friends  seems  certain.  His  imper 
fect  and  unfortunate  life  does  not  so 
much  concern  his  art,  since  his  life 
and  his  art  were  distinct  entities. 
No  unchaste  expression  or  intima 
tion  mars  any  of  his  writings.  He 
burned  incense  upon  the  altar  of 
beauty. 

The  question  has  been  raised  as 
to  whether  Poe  was  truly  a  South 
erner.  His  family  on  his  father's 
side  was  Southern.  His  boyhood 
was  largely  spent  in  the  South.  His 
333 


£dgar  Bllan  poe. 

first  poetic  impulse,  so  far  as  we 
know,  came  upon  him  under  a  South 
ern  sun.  His  wife  was  a  beautiful, 
dark-eyed  Southern  girl.  Stedman, 
who  has  written  of  his  works  with 
rare  discrimination,  ascribes  him 
to  that  section.  Brander  Matthews 
says :  "  He  was  a  Southerner  both 
by  temperament  and  descent."  Fi 
nally,  Poe  always  claimed  the  South 
as  his  home,  and  was  in  the  heart 
iest  sympathy  with  such  of  his 
countrymen  as  essayed  the  field  of 
letters. 

However,  his   work  was  for  all 
times  and  climes.     He  truly  said  : 

I  have  reached  these  lands  but  newly 
From  an  ultimate  dim  Thule — 
From  a  wild,  weird  clime  that  lieth, 

sublime, 

Out  of  Space — out  of  Time. 
334 


IPdlar  poete  of  tbc  Soutb. 

TROY  was  not  the  only  city 
destroyed  in  war  in  ancient 
times,  but  Troy  alone  found 
a  Homer.  Many  heroic  struggles 
for  freedom  have  never  been  en 
shrined  in  song.  Yet  the  hour  and 
the  man  with  the  opportune  word 
have  met  a  few  times  in  the  world's 
history.  Thus  descended  the  af 
flatus  upon  Rouget  de  Lisle,  a 
French  engineer,  when  at  the  hour 
of  gray  dawn  the  Marseillaise  hymn 
was  struck  out  in  the  white  heat  of 
the  French  revolution.  A  patriotic 
son  of  the  South,  Francis  Scott 
Key,  wrote  the  "Star  -  Spangled 
Banner"  while  the  British  vessel  on 
which  he  was  forcibly  detained 
joined  in  the  unsuccessful  bom 
bardment  of  Fort  McHenry  with 
the  hope  of  reaching  Baltimore. 
335 


War  poets  of  tbe  Soutb. 

"Yankee  Doodle"  was  an  English 
melody  in  vogue  before  the  Revo 
lution,  but  adopted  by  the  Ameri 
cans  during  that  conflict.  One  pa 
triotic  poem,  "Columbia,"  written 
by  Timothy  Dwight,  chaplain  in  the 
army,  survived  the  period,  but  was 
practically  superseded  by  "  Hail  Co 
lumbia,"  written  by  Joseph  Hop- 
kinson  during  the  threatened  war 
with  France.  Later  poets  have 
rendered  immortal  certain  incidents 
of  the  American  Revolution.  The 
exploits  of  the  Frigate  "Constitu 
tion"  in  the  second  war  with  Eng 
land  furnished  inspiration  for  "Old 
Ironsides,"  written  by  Holmes  many 
years  afterward.  The  Mexican  war 
gave  at  least  one  permanent  con 
tribution  to  literature  in  the  "Biv 
ouac  of  the  Dead,"  written  by 
Col.  Theodore  O'Hara  on  the  oc 
casion  of  the  erection  of  a  monu 
ment  to  the  Kentucky  soldiers  who 
fell  at  Buena  Vista.  This  poem  had 
the  strange  destiny  of  furnishing 
336 


poets  of  tbc  Soutb. 


the  lines  placed  over  the  gateway  of 
the  National  Cemetery  at  Arling 
ton,  though  no  doubt  these  were 
carved  while  their  author  was  in  the 
Confederate  army.  When  the  coun 
try  awoke  to  the  fact  in  1861  that 
war  existed,  armed  men  sprang  up 
as  if  dragon's  teeth  had  been  sown, 
and  with  them  came  an  army  of 
singers.  In  the  corners  of  news 
papers  many  names  unheard  of  be 
fore  found  a  place,  and  not  all  their 
verses  were  poor.  That  the  South 
ern  people  loved  their  section  and 
believed  in  the  righteousness  of 
their  cause  is  proved  by  what  they 
endured  and  dared  for  four  terrible 
years. 

No  better  portrayal  of  the  deep 
emotions  which  surged  through  the 
hearts  of  the  people  in  that  fated 
first  year  can  be  given  than  by  quo 
ting  "Tiger  Lilies,"  a  novel  pub 
lished  in  1867  by  Sidney  Lanier, 
himself  a  Southern  soldier.  Lanier 
says :  "An  afflatus  of  war  was 
V  337 


TDdar  poets  of  tbe  Soutb. 

breathed  upon  us.  Like  a  great 
wind,  it  drew  on  and  blew  upon 
men,  women,  and  children.  Its 
sound  mingled  with  the  solemnity 
of  the  church  organs  and  arose  with 
the  earnest  words  of  preacher  pray 
ing  for  guidance  in  the  matter.  It 
sighed  in  the  half-breathed  words 
of  sweethearts  conditioning  impa 
tient  lovers  with  war  services.  It 
thundered  splendidly  in  the  impas 
sioned  appeals  of  orators  to  the 
people.  It  whistled  through  the 
streets,  it  stole  into  the  firesides,  it 
clinked  glasses  in  bar-rooms,  it  lift 
ed  the  gray  hairs  of  our  wise  men  in 
conventions,  it  thrilled  through  the 
lectures  in  college-halls,  it  rustled 
the  thumbed  book  -  leaves  of  the 
schoolrooms.  This  wind  blew  upon 
all  the  vanes  of  all  the  churches  of 
the  country,  and  turned  them  one 
way  —  toward  war.  It  blew,  and 
shook  out,  as  if  by  magic,  a  flag 
whose  device  was  unknown  to  sol 
dier  or  sailor  before,  but  whose  ev- 
?38 


TOlar  poets  of  tbe  Soutb. 


ery  flap  and  flutter  made  the  blood 
bound  in  our  veins." 

Several  anthologies  of  Southern 
war  poetry  have  been  made.  Nat 
urally  much  of  the  verse  in  these  is 
very  poor,  but  gems  do  abound,  and 
these  are  not  so  infrequent  as  many 
suppose.  Nor  do  the  Southern 
songs  appear  at  a  disadvantage 
when  placed  side  by  side  with  the 
efforts  of  the  best-known  poets  of 
the  North,  as  has  been  done  by 
George  Gary  Eggleston  in  "Amer 
ican  War  Ballads  and  Lyrics,"  and 
by  F.  F.  Browne  in  "  Bugle  Ech 
oes."  No  doubt  the  best,  as  it  was 
among  the  first  noteworthy  songs 
to  emanate  from  Southern  pens, 
was  "My  Maryland."  I  n  M  r. 
Browne's  "Bugle  Echoes"  is  found 
the  history  of  the  poem  as  given  by 
the  author.  Mr.  Browne  says : 
"From  his  editorial  desk  in  Augus 
ta,  Ga.,  he  [Randall]  had  sent  a 
corrected  version  of  'My  Mary 
land'  with  these  interesting  partic- 
339 


"GClar  poets  of  tbe  soutb. 

ulars  of  its  history:  'In  1860-61  he 
who  pens  these  lines  was,  though 
very  young,  a  professor  at  Poydras 
College,  upon  the  Fausse  Riviere, 
of  Louisiana.  There,  a  stripling, 
just  from  college  in  Maryland,  full 
of  poetry  and  romance,  he  dreamed 
dreams,  and  was  only  awakened  by 
the  guns  of  Sumter.  At  an  old 
wooden  desk,  in  a  second  -  story 
room  of  Poydras  College,  one 
sleepless  April  night  in  1861,  the 
poem  of  "My  Maryland"  was  writ 
ten.  .  .  .  And  now  the  desk  is  ash 
es,  and  the  building  too.'  The 
poem  first  appeared  in  the  New  Or 
leans  Delta"  As  this  part  of  the 
series  is  to  be  largely  given  to  a 
reproduction  of  the  songs  of  the  war 
poets,  "My  Maryland"  is  given  en 
tire. 

The  despot's  heel  is  on  thy  shore, 

Maryland! 
His  torch  is  at  thy  temple  door, 

Maryland! 

Avenge  the  patriotic  gore 
340 


That  flecked  the  streets  of  Baltimore, 
And  be  the  battle  queen  of  yore, 
Maryland,  my  Maryland! 

Hark  to  an  exiled  son's  appeal, 

Maryland! 
My  Mother  State,  to  thee  I  kneel, 

Maryland! 

For  life  or  death,  for  woe  or  weal, 
Thy  peerless  chivalry  reveal, 
And  gird  thy  beauteous  limbs  with  steel, 
Maryland,  my  Maryland! 

Thou  wilt  not  cower  in  the  dust, 

Maryland! 
Thy  beaming  sword  shall  never  rust, 

Maryland! 

Remember  Carroll's  sacred  trust, 
Remember  Howard's  warlike  thrust, 
And  all  thy  slumberers  with  the  just, 
Maryland,  my  Maryland! 

Come!  'tis  the  red  dawn  of  the  day, 

Maryland! 
Come !  with  thy  panoplied  array, 

Maryland! 

With  Ringgold's  spirit  for  the  fray, 
With  Watson's  blood  at  Monterey, 
With  fearless  Lowe  and  dashing  May, 
Maryland,  my  Maryland! 
341 


Tldar  Poets  of  tbc  Soutb. 

Come!  for    thy    shield    is    bright    and 
strong, 

Maryland! 

Come!    for   thy    dalliance    does    thee 
wrong, 

Maryland! 

Come!  to  thine  own  heroic  throng, 
That  stalks  with  Liberty  along, 
And  ring  thy  dauntless  slogan-song, 
Maryland,  my  Maryland! 

Dear  mother!  burst  the  tyrant's  chain, 

Maryland! 
Virginia  should  not  call  in  vain, 

Maryland ! 

She  meets  her  sisters  on  the  plain — 
"Sic  semper,"  'tis  the  proud  refrain 
That  baffles  minions  back  amain, 

Maryland! 
Arise  in  majesty  again, 

Maryland,  my  Maryland! 

I  see  the  blush  upon  thy  cheek, 

Maryland! 
For  thou  wast  ever  bravely  meek, 

Maryland! 

But  lo!  there  surges  forth  a  shriek 
From  hill  to  hill,  from  creek  to  creek — 
Potomac  calls  to  Chesapeake, 

Maryland,  my  Maryland! 
342 


War  gtoets  of  tbe  Soutb. 


Thou  wilt  not  yield  the  vandal  toll, 

Maryland ! 
Thou  wilt  not  crook  to  his  control, 

Maryland! 

Better  the  fire  upon  thee  roll, 
Better  the  shot,  the  blade,  the  bowl, 
Than  crucifixion  of  the  soul, 

Maryland,  my  Maryland! 

I  hear  the  distant  thunder-hum, 

Maryland! 
The  Old  Line's  bugle,  fife,  and  drum, 

Maryland ! 

She  is  not  dead,  nor  deaf,  nor  dumb — 
Huzzah!  she  spurns  the  Northern  scum! 
She  breathes — She  burns!     She'll  come! 
She'll  come! 

Maryland,  my  Maryland! 

JAMES  RYDER  RANDALL  was 
born  in  Baltimore  January  i,  1839. 
He  cornes  of  an  old  Maryland 
stock.  From  his  tenth  to  his  sev 
enteenth  year  he  studied  at  George 
town  (D.  C.)  College  and  received 
an  excellent  classical  education, 
but  failed  to  remain  until  gradua 
tion  on  account  of  poor  health.  For 
a  time  he  was  connected  with  the 
343 


War  poets  of  tbe  Soutb. 

press  in  New  Orleans,  Augusta, 
and  finally  Baltimore.  "There's 
Life  in  the  Old  Land  Yet"  was 
written  in  1862  or  1863,  and  is 
scarcely  inferior  to  "My  Mary 
land."  Mr.  Randall  has  been  chief 
ly  an  editorial  writer,  and  has  never 
devoted  himself  very  extensively  to 
literature. 

Among  the  first  to  join  the  cho 
rus  of  singers  on  fire  with  patriotic 
fervor  was  HENRY  TIMROD,  of 
Charleston,  S.  C.  "A  Cry  to 
Arms,"  with  its  trumpetlike  lines, 
is  stronger  than  Bryant's  "Call  to 
Arms." 

Ho!  woodsmen  of  the  mountain-side! 

Ho !  dwellers  in  the  vales ! 
Ho!  ye  who  by  the  chafing  tide 

Have  roughened  in  the  gales ! 
Leave  barn  and  byre,  leave  kin  and  cot, 

Lay  by  the  bloodless  spade; 
Let  desk  and  case  and  counter  rot, 

And  burn  your  books  of  trade. 

The  despot  roves  your  fairest  lands; 
And  till  he  flies  or  fears, 
344 


Itdar  poets  of  tbe  Soutb. 


Your  fields  must  grow  but  armed  bands, 
Your  sheaves  be  sheaves  of  spears! 

Give  up  to  mildew  and  to  rust 
The  useless  tools  of  gain; 

And  feed  your  country's  sacred  dust 
With  floods  of  crimson  rain! 


Does  any  falter?    Let  him  turn 

To  some  brave  maiden's  eyes, 
And  catch  the  holy  fires  that  burn 

In  those  sublunar  skies. 
Oh!  could  you  like  your  women  feel, 

And  in  their  spirit  march, 
A  day  might  see  your  lines  of  steel 

Beneath  the  victor's  arch. 

What  hope,  O   God!  would  not  grow 
warm 

When  thoughts  like  these  give  cheer? 
The  lily  calmly  braves  the  storm, 

And  shall  the  palm-tree  fear? 
No !  rather  let  its  branches  court 

The  rack  that  sweeps  the  plain; 
And  from  the  lily's  regal  port 

Learn  how  to  breast  the  strain ! 

Ho!  woodsmen  of  the  mountain-side! 

Ho!  dwellers  in  the  vales! 
Ho!  ye  who  by  the  roaring  tide 

Have  roughened  in  the  gales! 
5  345 


Wat  pests  of  tbe  Soutb. 

Come!  flocking  gaily  to  the  fight, 
From  forest,  hill,  and  lake; 
We  battle  for  our  country's  right, 
And  for  the  lily's  sake! 

"My  Maryland"  came  at  the  op 
portune  time,  and  was  shouted  and 
sung  from  the  Gulf  to  the  northern 
limits  of  Maryland.  Timrod's 
"Carolina"  was  barely  inferior,  but 
did  not  reach  beyond  the  place  of 
its  origin.  A  part  is  given  : 

I. 

The  despot  treads  thy  sacred  sands, 
Thy  pines  give  shelter  to  his  bands, 
Thy  sons  stand  by  with  idle  hands, 

Carolina! 

He  breathes  at  ease  thy  airs  of  balm, 
He  scorns  the  lances  of  thy  palm; 
O  who  shall  break  thy  craven  calm, 

Carolina! 

Thy  ancient  fame  is  growing  dim, 
A  spot  is  on  thy  garment's  rim; 
Give  to  the  winds  thy  battle-hymn, 

Carolina! 

III. 

Hold  up  the  glories  of  thy  dead; 
Say  how  thy  elder  children  bled, 

346 


War  posts  of  tbe  Soutb. 

And  point  to  Eutaw's  battle-bed, 

Carolina! 

Tell  how  the  patriot's  soul  was  tried, 
And  what  his  dauntless  breast  defied; 
How  Rutledge  ruled  and  Laurens  died, 

Carolina! 

Cry!  till  thy  summons,  heard  at  last, 
Shall  fall  like  Marion's  bugle-blast 
Re-echoed  from  the  haunted  Past, 

Carolina! 

IV. 

I  hear  a  murmur  as  of  waves 

That  grope  their  way  through  sunless 

caves, 
Like  bodies  struggling  in  their  graves, 

Carolina! 

And  now  it  deepens;  slow  and  grand 
It  swells,  as,  rolling  to  the  land, 
An  ocean  broke  upon  thy  strand, 

Carolina! 

Shout!  let  it  reach  the  startled  Huns! 
And  roar  with  all  thy  festal  guns! 
It  is  the  answer  of  thy  sons, 

Carolina! 

Perhaps  Timrod's  "Ethnogene- 

sis"  was  the  earliest  as  it  was  the 

most    ambitious    Southern    effort, 

since  it  was  written  during  the  sit- 

347 


War  fpoets  of  tbe  Soutb. 


ting  of  the  first  Confederate  Con 
gress,  at  Montgomery,  in  February, 
1861.  Ticknor's  "Virginians  of  the 
Valley"  came  after  fighting  had  be 
gun.  This,  together  with  "Little 
Giffin"  and  "Loyal/'  is  given  else 
where  in  this  series. 

JOHN  R.  THOMPSON,  of  Virginia, 
was  editor  of  the  Southern  Literary 
Messenger  for  nearly  ten  years,  and 
was  the  author  of  numerous  poems 
which  have  never  been  collected. 
Many  of  these  were  devoted  to  war 
subjects.'  "Coercion"  expressed 
what  most  Southern  and  many 
Northern  people  felt  just  previous 
to  the  commencement  of  hostilities. 
Enough  is  given  to  show  the  spirit : 

Who  talks  of  coercion?    Who  dares  to 

deny 

A  resolute  people  the  right  to  be  free? 
Let  him  blot  out  forever  one  star  from 

the  sky, 

Or  curb  with  his  fetter  the  wave  of  the 
sea! 

348 


poets  of  tbe  Soutb* 


Who  prates  of  coercion?     Can  love  be 

restored 
To    bosoms    where    only    resentment 

may  dwell? 
Can  peace  upon  earth  be  proclaimed  by 

the  sword, 

Or  good-will  among  men  be  estab 
lished  by  shell? 

Shame!  shame!  that  the  statesman,  and 

trickster,  forsooth, 

Should  have  for  a  crisis  no  other  re 
course, 
Beneath  the  fair  dayspring  of  light  and 

of  truth, 

Than  the  old  brutum  fulmen  of  tyranny 
— force. 

Could  you  conquer  us,  men  of  the  North 

— could  you  bring 
Desolation  and  death  on  our  homes 

as  a  flood — 
Can  you  hope  the  pure  lily,  affection, 

will  spring 

From  ashes  all  reeking  and  sodden 
with  blood? 

Could  you  brand  us  as  villains  and  serfs, 

know  ye  not 

What  fierce,  sullen  hatred  lurks  under 
the  scar? 

349 


THUar  Poets  of  tbe  Soutb. 

How  loyal  to   Hapsburg  is  Venice,   I 

wot! 

How  dearly  the  Pole  loves  his  father, 
the  czar! 

But  'twere  well  to  remember  this  land 

of  the  sun 

Is  a  nutrix  leonum,  and  suckles  a  race 
Strong-armed,  lion-hearted,  and  banded 

as  one, 

Who  brook  not  oppression  and  know 
not  disgrace. 

And  well  may  the  schemers  in  office  be 
ware 
The  swift  retribution  that  waits  upon 

crime, 
When  the  lion,   Resistance,   shall   leap 

from  his  lair, 

With  a  fury  that  renders  his  venge 
ance  sublime. 

Once,  men  of  the  North,  we  were  broth 
ers,  and  still, 
Though  brothers  no  more,  we  would 

gladly  be  friends, 
Nor  join   in   a   conflict  accursed,   that 

must  fill 

With  ruin  the  country  on  which  it  de 
scends. 

350 


ipoets  of  tbe  Soutb. 


But,  if  smitten  with  blindness,  and  mad 

with  the  rage 
The    gods    gave    to    all    whom    they 

wished  to  destroy, 
You  would  act  a  new  Iliad,  to  darken 

the  age 

With  horrors  beyond  what  is  told  us 
of  Troy — 

If,  deaf  as  the  adder  itself  to  the  cries, 
When  wisdom,  humanity,  justice  im 
plore, 
You  would  have  our  proud  eagle  to  feed 

on  the  eyes 

Of  those   who   have  taught  him   so 
grandly  to  soar — 

To  the  breeze  then  your  banner  dishon 
ored  unfold, 
And,  at  once,  let  the  tocsin  be  sounded 

afar; 
We   greet  you,   as   greeted  the   Swiss, 

Charles  the  Bold— 

With  a  farewell  to  peace  and  a  wel 
come  to  war! 

For  the  courage  that  clings  to  our  soil, 

ever  bright, 

Shall  catch  inspiration  from  turf  and 
from  tide; 

351 


TKflar  IPoets  of  tbe  Soutb. 

Our  sons  unappalled  shall  go  forth  to 

the  fight, 

With  the  smile  of  the  fair,  the  pure 
kiss  of  the  bride; 

And   the   bugle   its   echoes   shall   send 

through  the  past, 
In  the  trenches  of  Yorktown  to  waken 

the  slain; 
While  the  sod  of  King's  Mountain  shall 

heave  at  the  blast, 
And  give  up  its  heroes  to  glory  again. 

Many  of  the  songs  and  tunes 
which  Southerners  have  adopted, 
such  as  "Suwanee  River"  and  "My 
Old  Kentucky  Home,"  were  writ 
ten  by  STEPHEN  C.  FOSTER,  a 
Northern  man.  "Dixie"  took  the 
form  in  which  it  became  popular  at 
the  hands  of  DAN  EMMETT,  of  Ohio. 
His  parents  were  from  the  South, 
though  he  has  always  lived  in  the 
North.  Mr.  Emmett  says  that 
"Dixie"  was  made  in  New  York 
City  one  rainy  Sunday  in  1859. 

The  "Bonnie  Blue  Flag"  was 
composed  by  HARRY  MACARTHY, 
352 


"Cdar  ff>oets  of  tbe  Soutb* 


one  of  the  few  actors  left  in  the 
South  during  the  war.  He  was  an 
Irishman,  and  enlisted  in  the  Con 
federate  army  from  Arkansas.  Aft 
er  a  time  he  was  granted  a  dis 
charge,  and  continued  his  career  as 
actor  at  Richmond  and  other 
points.  The  "  Bonnie  Blue  Flag" 
was  first  sung  in  a  theater  in  New 
Orleans  in  1861.  He  wrote  other 
war  verse,  but  none  so  popular  as 
the  song  which  rang  alike  through 
camps  and  homes.  The  author  of 
the  "Bonnie  Blue  Flag"  died  in 
California  in  extreme  poverty  a 
year  or  two  ago. 


We  are  a  band  of  brothers,  and  native 

to  the  soil, 
Fighting  for  the  property  we  gained  by 

honest  toil,  , 

And  when  our  rights  were  threatened, 

the  cry  rose  near  and  far: 
Hurrah  for  the  bonnie   blue  flag  that 

bears  a  single  star! 
Hurrah!    hurrah!    for  the  bonnie  Blue 

Flag  that  bears  a  single  star. 
W          353 


War  poets  of  tbe  Soutb. 

As  long  as  the  Union  was  faithful  to  her 
trust, 

Like  friends  and  like  brothers,  kind  were 
we  and  just; 

But  now,  when  Northern  treachery  at 
tempts  our  rights  to  mar, 

We  hoist  on  high  the  bonnie  Blue  Flag 
that  bears  a  single  star. 

First,    gallant    South    Carolina    nobly 

made  the  stand; 
Then  came  Alabama,  who  took  her  by 

the  hand; 
Next,  quickly,  Mississippi,  Georgia,  and 

Florida — 
All  raised  the  flag,  the  bonnie  Blue  Flag 

that  bears  a  single  star. 

Ye  men  of  valor,  gather  round  the  ban 
ner  of  the  right; 

Texas  and  fair  Louisiana  join  us  in  the 
fight. 

Davis,  our  loved  President,  and  Ste 
phens  statesmen  are; 

Now  rally  round  the  bonnie  Blue  Flag 
that  bears  a  single  star. 

And  here's  to  brave  Virginia,  the  Old 

Dominion  state 
With  the  young  Confederacy  at  length 

has  linked  her  fate. 
354 


War  ipoets  of  tbe  Soutb. 

Impelled  by  her  example,   now   other 

states  prepare 
To  hoist  on  high  the  bonnie  Blue  Flag 

that  bears  a  single  star. 

Then  here's  to  our  Confederacy;  strong 
we  are  and  brave, 

Like  patriots  of  old  we'll  fight,  our  her 
itage  to  save; 

And  rather  than  submit  to  shame,  to  die 
we  would  prefer; 

So  cheer  for  the  bonnie  Blue  Flag  that 
bears  a  single  star. 

Then  cheer,  boys,  cheer,  raise  the  joy 
ous  shout, 

For  Arkansas  and  North  Carolina  now 
have  both  gone  out; 

And  let  another  rousing  cheer  for  Ten 
nessee  be  given, 

The  single  star  of  the  bonnie  Blue  Flag 
has  grown  to  be  eleven! 

Many  changes  were  rung  on 
"Dixie"  and  the  "Bonnie  Blue 
Flag."  For  quiet  dignity  none  of 
the  variations  of  "Dixie"  excelled 
the  poem  written  by  Gen.  ALBERT 
PIKE,  of  Arkansas,  a  man  of  North 
ern  birth  who  ardently  espoused  the 
355 


War  poets  of  tbe  Soutb, 


Southern  cause.  This  is  typical  in 
hope  and  defiance  of  hundreds  pub 
lished  in  the  first  months  of  the  war. 

Southrons,  hear  your  country  call  you! 
Up!  lest  worse  than  death  befall  you! 

To  arms!  to  arms!  to  arms  in  Dixie! 
Lo!  all  the  beacon-fires  are  lighted, 
Let  all  hearts  be  now  united! 

To  arms!  to  arms!  to  arms  in  Dixie! 
Advance  the  flag  of  Dixie! 
Hurrah!  hurrah! 

Chorus. — For  Dixie's  land  we  take  our 

stand, 
And  live  or  die  for  Dixie! 

To  arms!  to  arms! 
And  conquer  peace  for  Dixie. 

To  arms!  to  arms! 
And  conquer  peace  for  Dixie. 

Hear  the  Northern  thunders  mutter! 
Northern  flags  in  South  winds  flutter! 
Send  them  back  your  fierce  defiance, 
Stamp  upon  the  accursed  alliance! 

Fear  no  danger!  shun  no  labor! 
Lift  up  rifle,  pike,  and  saber! 
Shoulder  pressing  close  to  shoulder 
Let  the  odds  make  each  heart  bolder! 
356 


Wlac  poets  of  tbe  Soutb. 


How  the  South's  great  heart  rejoices 
At  your  cannons'  ringing  voices! 
For  faith  betrayed  and  pledges  broken, 
Wrong  inflicted,  insults  spoken. 

Strong  as  lions,  swift  as  eagles, 
Back  to  their  kennels  hunt  these  bea 
gles! 

Cut  the  unequal  bonds  asunder! 
Let  them  hence  each  other  plunder. 

Swear  upon  your  country's  altar 
Never  to  submit  or  falter, 
Till  the  spoilers  are  defeated, 
Till  the  Lord's  work  is  completed 

Halt  not  till  our  federation 
Secures  among  earth's  powers  its  sta 
tion! 

Then  at  peace,  and  crowned  with  glory, 
Hear  your  children  tell  the  story. 

If  the  loved  ones  weep  in  sadness, 
Victory  soon  shall  bring  them  gladness; 
Exultant  pride  soon  banish  sorrow, 
Smiles  chase  tears  away  to-morrow. 

Chorus. — For  Dixie's  land  we  take  our 

stand, 

And  live  or  die  for  Dixie! 
To  arms!  to  arms! 
357 


poet0  of  tbe  Soutb. 


And  conquer  peace  for  Dixie. 

To  arms!  to  arms! 
And  conquer  peace  for  Dixie. 

Sung  to  the  air  of  "  Bonnie  Blue 
P'lag,"  the  Homespun  Dress"  was 
in  no  sense  an  exaggeration  of  the 
state  of  feeling  existing  among  the 
women  of  the  South.  They  prac 
tised  self-denial  as  never  before,  and 
gloried  in  their  privations.  Wom 
en  who  knew  not  the  hardship  of 
toil  went  to  work  cheerfully  in  be 
half  of  fathers,  brothers,  husbands, 
or  lovers  in  the  field.  Miss  CARRIE 
BELL  SINCLAIR,  of  Augusta,  Ga., 
was  the  author  of  "The  Home 
spun  Dress,"  which  was  sung  far 
and  wide  in  war-times. 

Oh,  yes,  I  am  a  Southern  girl, 

And  glory  in  the  name, 
And  boast  it  with  far  greater  pride 

Than  glittering  wealth  or  fame. 
We  envy  not  the  Northern  girl 

Her  robes  of  beauty  rare, 
Though    diamonds    grace    her    snowy 
neck, 

And  pearls  bedeck  her  hair. 
358 


War  ftoets  of  tbe  Soutb. 

Chorus. — Hurrah!  hurrah! 

For  the  sunny  South  so  dear, 
Three  cheers  for  the  homespun  dress 
The  Southern  ladies  wear! 

The  homespun  dress  is  plain,  I  know; 

My  hat's  palmetto,  too; 
But  then  it  shows  what  Southern  girls 

For  Southern  rights  will  do. 
We  send  the  bravest  of  our  land 

To  battle  with  the  foe, 
And  we  will  lend  a  helping  hand — 

We  love  the  South,  you  know. 

Now  Northern  goods  are  out  of  date; 

And  since  old  Abe's  blockade, 
We  Southern  girls  can  be  content 

With  goods  that's  Southern  made. 
We  send  our  sweethearts  to  the  war; 

But,  dear  girls,  never  mind — 
Your  soldier-love  will  ne'er  forget 

The  girl  he  left  behind. 

The  soldier  is  the  lad  for  me — 

A  brave  heart  I  adore; 
And  when  the  sunny  South  is  free, 

And  when  fighting  is  no  more, 
I'll  choose  me  then  a  lover  brave 

From  out  that  gallant  band. 
The  soldier  lad  I  love  the  best 

Shall  have  my  heart  and  hand. 
359 


"Odar  poets  of  tbe  Soutb. 


The  Southern  land's  a  glorious  land, 

And  has  a  glorious  cause; 
Then  cheer,  three  cheers  for  Southern 
rights, 

And  for  the  Southern  boys! 
We  scorn  to  wear  a  bit  of  silk, 

A  bit  of  Northern  lace, 
But  make  our  homespun  dresses  up, 

And  wear  them  with  a  grace. 

And  now,  young  man,  a  word  to  you: 

If  you  would  win  the  fair, 
Go  to  the  field  where  honor  calls, 

And  win  your  lady  there. 
Remember  that  our  brightest  smiles 

Are  for  the  true  and  brave, 
And  that  our  tears  are  all  for  those 

Who  fill  a  soldier's  grave. 

No  attempt  can  be  made  at  quo 
ting  or  even  mentioning  poems  de 
scriptive  of  battles.  Their  name  is 
legion.  None  of  them  rose  to  the 
dignity  of  real  battle  lyrics.  A  few 
were  not  without  merit.  "Our  Left 
at  Manassas,"  by  Ticknor,  and  "  On 
to  Richmond,"  a  burlesque  descrip 
tion  of  the  same  battle  by  John  R. 
Thompson,  are  among  the  best, 
360 


poets  of  tbe  Soutb. 

though  not  superior  to  some  others, 
After  the  first  effervescence  had 
passed  away,  and  war  had  become 
a  serious,  deadly  business,  requiems 
for  the  dead  began  to  multiply. 
These  were  often  written  by  a  fel 
low  soldier,  for  many  of  these  who 
wrote  best  fought  best.  Zollicoffer, 
of  Tennessee,  was  among  the  first 
notable  men  to  fall.  His  death 
found  an  elegist  in  CAPT.  HARRY 
FLASH,  of  Alabama. 

First  in  the  fight,  and  first  in  the  arms 

Of  the  white-winged  angels  of  glory, 
With  the  heart  of  the  South  at  the  feet 
of  God, 

And  his  wounds  to  tell  the  story: 
And  the  blood  that  flowed  from  his  hero 
heart, 

On  the  spot  where  he  nobly  perished. 
Was  drunk  by  the  earth  as  a  sacrament 

In  the  holy  cause  he  cherished. 

In  heaven  a  home  with  the  brave  an-1 

blessed, 

And,  for  his  soul's  sustaining, 
The  apocalyptic  eyes  of  Christ — 
And  nothing  on  earth  remaining, 
6  361 


TiClar  poets  of  tbe  Soutb. 

But  a  handful  of  dust  in  the  land  of  his 

choice, 

A  name  in  song  and  story, 
And   Fame  to   shout  with  her  brazen 

voice : 
"Died  on  the  field  of  glory!" 

An  incident  but  too  common  in 
both  armies  is  celebrated  in  the  ex 
quisite  lines  by  Miss  MARIE  LA- 
COSTE,  of  Savannah,  Ga. 

SOMEBODY'S  DARLING. 

Into  a  ward  of  the  whitewashed  walls, 
Where  the  dead  and  the  dying  lay — 
Wounded  by  bayonets,  shells,  and  balls — 
Somebody's    darling   was   borne    one 

day. 
Somebody's  darling!  so  young  and  so 

brave, 

Wearing  still  on  his  pale  sweet  face — 
Soon   to   be   hid   by   the    dust    of    the 

grave— 

The  lingering  light  of  his  boyhood's 
grace. 

Matted  and  damp  are  the  curls  of  gold, 
Kissing  the  snow  of  that  fair  young 
brow, 

362 


War  iPoets  of  tbe  Soutb. 


Pale  are  the  lips  of  delicate  mold — 
Somebody's  darling  is  dying  now. 

Back    from    the    beautiful,    blue-veined 

face 
Brush  every  wandering,  silken  thread, 

Cross  his  hands  as  a  sign  of  grace — 
Somebody's  darling  is  still  and  dead! 

Kiss  him  once  for  somebody's  sake; 

Murmur  a  prayer,  soft  and  low, 
One  bright  curl  from  the  cluster  take — 

They    were    somebody's    pride,    you 

know. 
Somebody's  hand  hath  rested  there; 

Was  it  a  mother's  soft  and  white? 
And  have  the  lips  of  a  sister  fair 

Been  baptized  in  those  waves  of  light? 

God  knows  best.     He  was  somebody's 

love; 
Somebody's    heart    enshrined    him 

there; 
Somebody  wafted  his  name  above, 

Night    and    morn    on    the    wings    of 

prayer. 

Somebody  wept  when  he  marched  away, 
Looking    so    handsome,    brave,    and 

grand; 

Somebody's  kiss  on  his  forehead  lay, 
Somebody  clung  to  his  parting  hand. 
363 


Tffilar  poets  of  tbe  Soutb.     , 

Somebody's  watching  and  waiting  for 
him, 

Yearning  to  hold  him  again  to  her 

heart. 
There  he  lies — with  the  blue  eyes  dim, 

And  smiling,  childlike  lips  apart. 
Tenderly  bury  the  fair  young  dead, 

Pausing  to  drop  on  his  grave  a  tear, 
Carve  on  the  wooden  slab  at  his  head, 

" Somebody's  darling  lies  buried  here!" 

A  poem  characteristic  of  the 
times  was  entitled  "  Stonewall  Jack 
son's  Way."  The  lines  were  said 
to  have  been  found,  stained  with 
blood,  in  the  breast  of  a  dead  sol 
dier  of  the  old  Stonewall  Brigade, 
after  one  of  Jackson's  battles.  At 
a  later  day  the  authorship  has  been 
ascribed  to  DR.  J.  W.  PALMER,  of 
Maryland. 

Come,   stack   arms,   men!    pile   on   the 

rails; 

Stir  up  the  camp-fire  bright; 
No  matter  if  the  canteen  fails, 
We'll  make  a  roaring  night. 
Here  Shenandoah  brawls  along, 
Here  burly  Blue  Ridge  echoes  strong, 
364 


War  poets  of  tbe  Soutb* 

To  swell  the  brigade's  rousing  song, 
Of  "Stonewall  Jackson's  way." 

We  see  him  now — the  old  slouched  hat 

Cocked  o'er  his  eye  askew — 
The  shrewd  dry  smile  —  the  speech  so 

pat, 

So  calm,  so  blunt,  so  true. 
The    "Blue    Light    Elder"    knows    'em 

well. 
Says  he,   "That's   Banks;  he's  fond  of 

shell. 
Lord  save  his  soul!  we'll  give  him — " 

well, 
That's  "Stonewall  Jackson's  way." 

Silence!  Ground  arms!  Kneel  all!  Caps 
off! 

Old  "Blue  Light's"  going  to  pray. 
Strangle  the  fool  that  dares  to  scoff! 

Attention!  it's  his  way! 
Appealing  from  his  native  sod 
In  forma  pauperis  to  God, 
"Lay  bare  thine  arm!     Stretch  forth  thy 
rod! 

Amen!"     That's  Stonewall's  way. 

He's  in  the  saddle  now:  Fall  in! 

Steady!     The  whole  brigade! 
Hill's  at  the  ford,  cut  off;  we'll  win 

His  way  out,  ball  and  blade. 
365 


poets  of  tbe  Soutb. 

What  matter  if  our  shoes  are  worn? 
What  matter  if  our  feet  are  torn? 
Quick    step!    we're    with    him    before 

dawn! 
That's  Stonewall  Jackson's  way! 

The  sun's  bright  lances  rout  the  mists 
Of  morning — and,  by  George! 

Here's    Longstreet,    struggling    in    the 

lists, 
Hemmed  in  an  ugly  gorge. 

Pope  and  his  Yankees,  whipped  before: 

"Bayonets  and  grape!"  hear  Stonewall 
roar; 

"Charge,  Stuart!    Pay  off  Ashby's  score 
In  Stonewall  Jackson's  way!" 

Ah,  maiden!  wait  and  watch  and  yearn 
For  news  of  Stonewall's  band! 

Ah,  widow!  read,  with  eyes  that  burn, 
That  ring  upon  thy  hand! 

Ah,  wife!  sew  on,  pray  on,  hope  on; 

Thy  life  shall  not  be  all  forlorn. 

The  foe  had  better  ne'er  been  born 
That  gets  in  Stonewall's  way. 

The  verse  in  memory  of  the  dead 

thrilled  with  love  of  glory  in  the 

early   days   of  the   contest.     Each 

dirge  was  in  a  measure  a  call  to  the 

366 


"Cdar  ipoets  of  tbe  Soutb. 


living — to  emulate  as  well  as  honor 
the  deeds  of  dead  heroes.  "Ash- 
by,"  by  John  R.  Thompson,  is  a 
case  in  point.  (Gen.  Turner  Ash- 
by,  a  noted  Confederate  cavalry  of 
ficer,  fell  in  an  engagement  at  Har- 
risburg,  Va.,  in  June,  1862.) 

To  the  brave  all  homage  render. 

Weep,  ye  skies  of  June! 
With  a  radiance  pure  and  tender, 

Shine,  O  saddened  moon! 
"Dead  upon  the  field  of  glory!" 
Hero  fit  for  song  and  story — 

Lies  our  bold  dragoon! 

Well  they  learned,   whose   hands   have 
slain  him, 

Braver,  knightlier  foe 
Never  fought  'gainst  Moor  or  Paynim — 

Rode  at  Templestowe: 
With  a  mien  how  high  and  joyous, 
'Gainst  the  hordes  that  would  destroy  us 

Went  he  forth,  we  know. 

Nevermore,  alas!  shall  saber 

Gleam  around  his  crest; 
Fought  his  fight,  fulfilled  his  labor, 

Stilled  his  manly  breast; 
All  unheard  sweet  nature's  cadence, 
367 


War  poets  of  tbe  Soutb. 

Trump  of  fame  and  voice  of  maidens; 
Now  he  takes  his  rest. 

Earth,  that  all  too  soon  hast  bound  him, 

Gently  wrap  his  clay! 
Linger  lovingly  around  him, 

Light  of  dying  day! 
Softly  fall,  ye  summer  showers; 
Birds  and  bees  among  the  flowers, 

Make  the  gloom  seem  gay ! 

Then  throughout  the  coming  ages, 

When  his  sword  is  rust, 
And  his  deeds  in  classic  pages, 

Mindful  of  her  trust, 
Shall  Virginia,  bending  lowly, 
Still  a  ceaseless  vigil  holy 

Keep  above  his  dust! 

COL.  W.  S.  HAWKINS  (the  neph 
ew  of  Gen.  A.  P.  Stewart),  of  Ten 
nessee,  wrote  a  number  of  poems 
while  in  the  Northern  prison,  from 
Avhich  the  close  of  the  war  released 
him  only  to  come  home  and  die. 
"A  Prison  Scene"  gives  but  one  of 
many  pathetic  incidents  of  the  war. 

Last  night  a  comrade  sent  in  haste 
For  me  to  soothe  his  fearful  pain; 
368 


ipoets  of  tbe  Sciitb. 

He  felt  Death's  power  advancing  fast, 
He  knew  that  hope  was  vain. 

God's  promises  I  read  again, 

Till   Faith's  sweet  light  shone   from 
his  eye; 

Sole  gleam — for  sorrow  filled  me  then, 
As  shadows  fill  the  sky. 

A  dreary  place  that  hospital — 

Where  dim  lamps  break  the  solemn 

gloom, 
And  nurses  move  with  slow  footfall, 

Like  specters  through  the  room. 
Above  those  cots  all  miseries  blend, 

On  each  some  form  of  suffering  lies; 
Some  groan,  some  sleep;  but  here  one 
friend 

Puts  on  the  angel's  guise. 

Scarcely  I  heard  the  bugle's  call, 

Scarce    felt    the    night    wind's    heavy 

breath, 
I  only  saw  the  shadows  fall, 

And  the  ghastly  chill  of  death, 
Save  where  a  pallid  splendor  lay 

Upon  his  brow,  like  martyr's  crown, 
The  sweet  foreshadowing  of  the  day 

In  which  life's  star  goes  down. 

I  hear  his  piteous  tones  implore 

And    heed    his    hand's    hot    clinging 
grasp — 

X  369 


War  poets  of  tbc  Soutb. 

Pale  hands,  alas!  that  nevermore 
Shall  feel  love's  answering  clasp. 

His  frenzied  spirit  flies  from  pain, 
He  thinks  himself  once  more  at  home: 

"Dear  wife,  dear  child,  I'm  here  again, 
Close  to  me,  closer  come." 

His  voice  was  hushed — short  grew  his 

breath, 

The  glazing  eyes  closed  slowly  o'er, 
The    bloodless     lips    were     kissed    by 

Death— 

They'll  speak  of  love  no  more. 
One  clammy  hand  I  held  in  mine 
And    o'er    it    breathed    my    fervent 

prayer; 

Beneath  the  other  seemed  to  shine 
His  baby's  golden  hair. 

As  the  war  advanced  sorrow  for 
the  "unreturning  brave"  was  min 
gled  with  each  poem  of  praise. 
Witness  the  verses  by  CAPT.  J.  E. 
COOKE  addressed  to  the  "Band  of 
the  Pines,"  heard  after  Pelham 
died. 

O  band  in  the  pine-wood,  cease! 
Cease  with  your  splendid  call; 
370 


TiGlar  poets  of  tbe  Soutb. 


The  living  are  brave  and  noble, 
But  the  dead  are  bravest  of  all! 

They  throng  to  the  martial  summons, 
To  the  loud  triumphant  strain, 

And  the  dear  bright  eyes  of  long-dead 

friends 
Come  to  the  heart  again! 

They  come  with  the  ringing  bugle, 
And  the  deep  drum's  mellow  roar; 

Till  the  soul  is  faint  with  longing 
For  the  hands  we  clasp  no  more! 

O  band  in  the  pine-wood,  cease! 

Or  the  heart  will  melt  with  tears, 
For  the  gallant  eyes  and  the  smiling 
lips. 

And  the  voices  of  old  years! 

While  many  elegies  are  found  in 
all  collections  of  war  poetry,  such 
as  "Polk,"  by  H.  L.  Flash;  "John 
Pelham,"  by  J.  R.  Randall ;  "Dirge 
for  Ashby,"  by  Mrs.  M.  J.  Preston ; 
"The  Burial  of  Latane,"  by  J.  R. 
Thompson;  and  "Obsequies  of  Stu 
art,"  by  the  same  writer ;  and  while 
numbers  of  elegies  were  written  on 
371 


Tldar  poete  of  tbe  Soutb. 

the  death  of  Jackson,  one  addition 
al  selection  will  close  this  part  of 
the  subject.  It  seems  to  be  con 
ceded  that  CAPT.  H.  L.  FLASH 
wrote  the  best  poem  on  the  death  of 
the  great  leader, 

Not  midst  the  lightning  of  the  stormy 

fight, 

Nor  in  the  rush  upon  the  vandal  foe, 
Did   kingly   Death,    with   his   resistless 

might, 
Lay  the  great  leader  low. 

His   warrior  soul   its   earthly   shackles 

broke 
In    the    full    sunshine    of    a    peaceful 

town, 
When  all  the   storm   was  hushed,   the 

trusty  oak 
That  propped  our  cause  went  down. 

Though  his  alone  the  blood  that  flecks 

the  ground, 

Recalling  all  his  grand  heroic  deeds, 
Freedom    herself    is    writhing    in    the 

wound, 

And  all  the  country  bleeds. 
372 


Mar  poets  of  tbe  Soutb. 

He  entered  not  the  nation's  Promised 

Land, 
At  the  red  belching  of  the  cannon's 

mouth, 
But  broke  the  house  of  bondage  with 

his  hand — 
The  Moses  of  the  South! 

O   gracious   God!    not   gainless   in  the 

loss, 
A  glorious  sunbeam  gilds  the  sternest 

frown; 
And  while  his  country  staggers  'neath 

the  cross, 
He  rises  with  the  crown! 

The  "Gray  Jacket,"  by  MRS.  C. 
A.  BALL,  of  South  Carolina,  ex 
pressed  the  feelings  and  experience 
of  many  a  home.  Nor  did  that  feel 
ing  of  loss  and  desolation  pass  away 
for  many  a  sad  day. 

Fold  it  up  carefully,  lay  it  aside, 

Tenderly  touch  it,  look  on  it  with  pride; 

For  dear  must  it  be  to  our  hearts  ever 
more, 

The  jacket  of  gray  our  loved  soldier  boy 
wore. 

373 


War  poets  of  tbe  Soutb. 

Can  we  ever  forget  when  he  joined  the 

brave  band, 
Who  rose  in  defense  of  dear  Southern 

land; 
And  in  his  bright  youth  hurried  on  to 

the  fray, 
How  proudly  he  donned  it,  the  jacket  of 

gray? 

His  fond  mother  blessed  him  and  looked 

up  above, 
Commending  to  Heaven  the  child  of  her 

love; 
What  anguish  was  hers,  mortal  tongue 

may  not  say, 
When  he  passed  from  her  sight  in  the 

jacket  of  gray. 

But  her  country  had  called  him,   she 

would  not  repine, 
Though  costly  the  sacrifice  placed  on 

its  shrine; 
Her  heart's  dearest  hopes  on  its  altar 

she  lay, 
When  she  sent  out  her  boy  in  his  jacket 

of  gray! 

Months    passed,    and    war's    thunders 

rolled  over  the  land, 
Unsheathed  was  the  sword  and  lighted 

the  brand; 

374 


llflar  jpoets  of  tbe  Soutb. 


We  heard  in  the  distance  the  noise  of 

the  fray, 
And  prayed  for  our  boy  in  the  jacket  of 

gray. 

Ah!  vain  all — all  vain  were  our  prayers 
and  our  tears, 

The  glad  shout  of  victory  rang  in  our 
ears; 

But  our  treasured  one  on  the  cold  battle 
field  lay, 

While  the  life-blood  oozed  out  on  the 
jacket  of  gray. 

His  young  comrades  found  him  and  ten 
derly  bore 

His  cold,  lifeless  form  to  his  home  by 
the  shore; 

Oh,  dark  were  our  hearts  on  that  terri 
ble  day 

When  we  saw  our  dead  boy  in  the  jacket 
of  gray. 

Ah!   spotted  and  tattered  and  stained 

now  with  gore, 
Was    the    garment    which    once    he    so 

gracefully  wore; 

We  bitterly  wept  as  we  took  it  away, 
And  replaced  with  death's  white  robes 

the  jacket  of  gray. 
375 


War  poets  of  tbe  Soutb. 

We  laid  him  to  rest  in  his  cold,  narrow 

bed, 
And  graved  on  the  marble  we  placed 

o'er  his  head, 
As   the   proudest   of   tributes   our   sad 

hearts  could  pay, 
"He  never  disgraced  the  dear  jacket  of 

gray." 

Then  fold  it  up  carefully,  lay  it  aside, 

Tenderly  touch  it,  look  on  it  with  pride; 

For  dear  must  it  be  to  our  hearts  ever 
more, 

The  jacket  of  gray  our  loved  soldier  boy 
wore. 

There  came  a  time  when  the  thin 
lines  of  gray  were  full  of  gaps  which 
could  not  be  filled,  for  the  land  held 
many  graves,  and  too  few  were  left 
at  home  to  take  the  places  of  the 
fallen.  The  note  of  defiance  had 
been  early  mingled  with  dirges. 
Now  a  wail  broke  over  the  land — 
a  wail  for  the  fallen  comrades, 
HAYNE  dreamed  of  the  dead  gliding 
by,  but  said : 

Vain  dream.     Amid  far-off  mountains 
They  lie  where  the  dew  mists  weep, 
376 


TKHar  poets  of  tbc  Soutb. 

And  the  murmur  of  mournful  fountains 
Breathes  over  their  painless  sleep; 

On  the  breast  of  the  lonely  meadows, 
Safe,  safe  from  the  despot's  will, 

They  rest  in  the  starlit  shadows, 
And  their  brows  are  white  and  still. 

Alas  for  our  heroes  perished! 

Cut  down  at  their  golden  prime, 
With   the    luminous    hopes   they   cher 
ished, 

On  the  height  of  their  faith  sublime! 
For  them  is  the  voice  of  wailing 

And  the  sweet  blush-rose  departs, 
From  the  cheeks  of  the  maidens  paling 

O'er  the  wreck  of  their  broken  hearts. 

JUDGE  A.  J.  REQUIER,  of  Ala 
bama,  wrote  "Our  Faith  in  '61,"  in 
which  he  was  sure  "no  belted 
Southron  can  retreat."  Of  the 
stars  and  bars  he  had  sung  "Fling 
wide  the  dauntless  banner,"  but 
over  the  blood-stained  ensign  he 
chanted 

ASHES  OF  GLORY. 

Fold  up  the  gorgeous  silken  sun, 
By  bleeding  martyrs  blest, 
7  377 


poets  of  tbc  Soutb. 

And  heap  the  laurels  it  has  won 
Above  its  place  of  rest. 

No  trumpet's  note  need  harshly  blare — 

No  drum  funereal  roll — 
Nor  trailing  sables  drape  the  bier 

That  frees  a  dauntless  soul ! 

It  lived  with  Lee  and  decked  his  brow 
From  Fate's  empyreal  palm: 

It  sleeps  the  sleep  of  Jackson  now — 
As  spotless  and  as  calm. 

It  was  outnumbered,  not  outdone; 

And  they  shall  shuddering  tell, 
Who  struck  the  blow,  its  latest  gun 

Flashed  ruin  as  it  fell. 
s. 

Sleep,  shrouded  ensign!  not  the  breeze 

That  smote  the  victor  tar, 
With  death  across  the  heaving  seas 

Of  fiery  Trafalgar; 

Not  Arthur's  knights,  amid  the  gloom 
Their  knightly  deeds  have  starred; 

Nor  Gallic  Henry's  matchless  plume, 
Nor  peerless-born  Bayard; 

Not  all  that  antique  fables  feign, 
And  Orient  dreams  disgorge; 
378 


poets  of  tbe  Soutb. 


Nor  yet  the  Silver  Cross  of  Spain, 
And  Lion  of  St.  George, 

Can  bid  thee  pale!     Proud  emblem,  still 

Thy  crimson  glory  shines 
Beyond  the  lengthened  shades  that  fill 

Their  proudest  kingly  lines. 

Sleep!  in  thine  own  historic  night, 

And  be  thy  blazoned  scroll, 
A  warrior's  banner  takes  its  flight, 

To  greet  the  warrior's  soul! 

FLASH,  who  had  written  imper 
ishable  dirges  over  Zollicoffer, 
Polk,  and  Jackson,  wrote  some  of 
his  strongest  lines  on 

THE  CONFEDERATE  FLAG. 
Four  stormy  years  we  saw  it  gleam, 

A  people's  hope — and  then  refurled, 
Even  while  its  glory  was  the  theme 

Of  half  the  world. 

The  beacon  that,  with  streaming  ray, 
Dazzled  a  struggling  nation's  sight, 

Seeming  a  pillar  of  cloud  by  day, 
Of  fire  by  night. 

They  jeer,  who  trembled  as  it  hung, 
Cometlike,  blazoning  the  sky; 
379 


"ODlar  poets  of  tbe  Soutb. 

And  heroes,  such  as  Homer  sung, 
Followed  it — to  die. 


It  fell — but  stainless  as  it  rose, 
Martyred  like  Stephen,  in  the  strife; 

Passing  like  him,  girdled  with  foes, 
From  death  to  life. 

Fame's  trophy,  sanctified  by  tears, 
Planted  forever  at  her  portal ; 

Folded,   true  —  what  then?    four   short 

years 
Made  it  immortal. 

FATHER  ABRAM  J.  RYAN  fol 
lowed  the  fortunes  of  the  Confed- 
eracy  with  his  ministrations, 
prayers,  and  tears;  then  caught  up 
the  desolate  wail  of  a  people  whose 
homes  were  darkened  and  whose 
hearts  were  crushed,  and  wove  this 
into  the  fadeless  song: 

THE  CONQUERED  BANNER. 

Furl  that  banner,  for  'tis  weary; 
Round. its  staff  'tis  drooping,  dreary; 

Furl  it,  fold  it,  it  is  best; 
For  there's  not  a  man  to  wave  it, 
And  there's  not  a  sword  to  save  it, 
380 


©oets  ot  tbe  Soutb. 


And  there's  not  one  left  to  lave  it 
In  the  blood  which  heroes  gave  it; 
And  its  foes  now  scorn  and  brave  it; 
Furl  it,  hide  it— let  it  rest! 

Take  that  banner  down!  'tis  tattered; 
Broken  is  its  staff  and  shattered; 
And  the  valiant  hosts  are  scattered 

Over  whom  it  floated  high. 
Oh,  'tis  hard  for  us  to  fold  it; 
Hard  to  think  there's  none  to  hold  it; 
Hard  that  those  who  once  unrolled  it 

Now  must  furl  it  with  a  sigh. 

Furl  that  banner!  furl  it  sadly! 
Once  ten  thousands  hailed  it  gladly, 
And  ten  thousands  wildly,  madly, 

Swore  it  should  forever  wave; 
Swore  that  foeman's  sword  should  never 
Hearts  like  theirs  entwined  dissever, 
Till  that  flag  should  float  forever 

O'er  their  freedom  or  their  grave! 

Furl  it!  for  the  hands  that  grasped  it, 
And  the  hearts  that  fondly  clasped  it, 

Cold  and  dead  are  lying  low; 
And  that  banner — it  is  trailing! 
While  around  it  sounds  the  wailing 

Of  its  people  in  their  woe. 
For,  though  conquered,  they  adore  it; 
Love  the  cold,  dead  hands  that  bore  it; 
381 


poets  of  tbe  Soutb. 

Weep  for  those  who  fell  before  it; 
Pardon  those  who  trailed  and  tore  it! 
But  oh,  wildly  they  deplore  it, 
Now  who  furl  and  fold  it  so. 

Furl  that  banner!    True,  'tis  gory, 
Yet  'tis  wreathed  around  with  glory, 
And  'twill  live  in  song  and  story, 

Though  its  folds  are  in  the  dust: 
For  its  fame  on  brightest  pages, 
Penned  by  poets  and  by  sages, 
Shall  go  sounding  down  the  ages — 

Furl  its  folds  though  now  we  must. 

Furl  that  banner,  softly,  slowly! 
Treat  it  gently — it  is  holy — 

For  it  droops  above  the  dead. 
Touch  it  not — unfold  it  never, 
Let  it  droop  there,  furled  forever, 

For  its  people's  hopes  are  dead! 

In  this  collection  an  attempt  has 
been  made  to  select  poems  repre 
senting  some  of  the  various  phases 
of  the  war.  Of  the  many  at  hand 
only  a  few  could  be  included.  T. 
C.  DE  LEON  says:  "I  had  in  my 
collection  no  fewer  than  forty-seven 
monodies  and  dirges  on  Stonewall 
382 


i-  Sheets  of  tbe  Soutb. 

Jackson,  some  dozen  on  Ashby,  and 
a  score  on  Stuart."  In  glancing 
over  names  not  mentioned  one  may 
find  that  of  CAPT.  J.  BARRON  HOPE, 
of  Virginia,  with  his  "Oath  of 
Freedom;"  ST.  GEORGE  TUCKER, 
with  his  "Southern  Cross;"  W. 
GILMORE  SIMMS,  with  his  "Our 
City  by  the  Sea;"  J.  DICKSON 
BRUN,  with  his  "O  Tempora;  O 
Mores;"  JUDGE  MEEKS,  with  his 
"Wouldst  Thou  Have  Me  Love 
Thee?"  W.  GORDON  McCABE,  with 
his  "Jonn  Pegram;"  MRS.  SUSAN 
ARCHER  TALLEY,  with  her  "Rally 
ing  Song  of  the  Virginians;"  MRS. 
TOWNSEND,  with  her  "Georgia Vol 
unteer" — but  the  list  is  too  long  to 
give  in  a  small  compass,  and  many 
of  these  wrote  several  poems.  The 
dust  of  ages  will  not  bring  oblivion 
to  the  heroic  deeds  of  a  Titanic 
struggle,  but  more  and  more,  as  the 
years  advance,  will  these  become 
themes  for  song  and  story.  An  at 
tractive  glamour  of  romance  always 
383 


"Cdar  poets  of  tbe  Soutb. 


hangs  over  those  who  fight  bravely 
but  unsuccessfully  for  a  cause  which 
they  have  loved  and  deemed  worthy 
of  every  sacrifice. 
384 


Jobn  IReuben  Gbompson. 

VIRGINIA  has  honored  herself 
and  honored  her  poet-editor 
in  placing  his  likeness  upon 
'  the  walls  of  her  State  library  among 
the  portraits  of  her  statesmen.  This 
is  as  it  should  be,  for  too  often  the 
man  of  letters  has  not  been  held  as 
the  peer  of  the  man  of  affairs.  Par 
ticularly  has  the  singer  been  slight 
ed  v/hen  the  politicians  were  seated 
around  the  festal  board.  The  Old 
Dominion  has  been  prolific  of  Cor 
nelias  whose  Grachi  have  borne 
large  part  in  the  making  and  move 
ments  of  a  great  nation,  but  the 
number  of  her  well-known  literary 
men  and  women  is  greater  now 
than  at  any  former  period  of  her 
history.  This  does  not  dim  the 
splendor  of  the  mighty  intellects 
which  molded  and  brightened  the 
385 


3obn  'Reuben  ftbompson. 

past,  but  only  shows  that  the  mind 
o<f  the  people  has  turned  more  to 
creative  art  since  there  has  arisen 
a  national  Pharadh  who  knows  not 
Joseph  politically — that  is,  that  the 
soil  which  has  produced  the  great 
est  statesmen  and  soldiers  may  well 
hope  to  produce  leaders  in  all  the 
refinements  of  learning.  No  writer 
comes  full-fledged  into  his  posses 
sions  of  fame,  nor  does  a  nation 
come  into  the  full  possession  of  lit 
erary  power  without  first  passing 
through  a  state  of  apprenticeship. 
Now  that  the  figures  sound  fabu 
lous  which  designate  the  circulation 
of  magazines  and  the  sales  of  cer 
tain  books,  and  that  literature  pays 
some  dollars  per  magazine  column, 
almost  any  one  might  yearn  to  be 
a  writer,  but  no  such  inducements 
moved  the  ambitious  in  ante  bellum 
days  in  the  South,  hence  only  those 
wrote  who  loved  literature  for  its 
own  sake. 

Among  those  who  helped  to  lay 
386 


$obn  "Reuben  tTbompson. 

the  foundation  for  modern  literary 
development  in  the  Southern  half 
of  the  Union  no  name  chines  out 
brighter  and  more  deserves  honor 
than  that  of  John  Reuben  Thomp 
son.  In  the  case  of  Thompson,  the 
man  is  greater  than  any  body  of 
writing  which  he  hias  left.  While 
his  poems — some  of  them  gems  of 
beauty — are  an  ornament  to  every 
Southern  anthology,  his  influence 
and  hence  his  fame  rests  chiefly  upon 
his  long  term  as  editor  of  the  South 
ern  Literary  Messenger,  published  ait 
Richmond,  Va.,  from  August,  1834, 
until  sometime  in  1864.  T.  W. 
White,  its  founder,  secured  the 
services  of  Poe  as  its  first  ed 
itor.  Later  the  tripod  was  held  by 
such  as  B.  B.  Minor,  John  R. 
Thompson,  and  George  W.  Bagby. 
Donald  G.  Mitchell,  Matthew  Fon 
taine  Maury,  Richard  Henry  Wilde, 
Henry  Timrod,  Paul  H.  Hayne,  and 
a  host  of  others  won  or  added  to 
their  fame  in  its  columns. 
387 


5obn  "Reuben  abompson, 

John  R.  Thompson  was  born  in 
Richmond,  Va.,  October  23,  1823. 
He  was  graduated  at  the  University 
of  Virginia  in  1844.  He  afterwards 
studied  law  at  the  same  place,  and 
settled  in  Richmond,  with  every 
prospect  of  success.  But  soon  his 
proclivities  for  literature  overmas 
tered  those  for  law,  and  accordingly 
with  the  November  number  of  1847 
he  became  editor  of  the  Southern 
Literary  Messenger,  and  began  that 
career  of  critical  writing  which  did 
so  much  to  foster  the  true  literary 
spirit  among  the  younger  genera 
tion  of  his  section.  Its  proper  fruit 
age  has  revealed  itself  in  the  names 
already  famous  in  the  field  of 
Southern  literature.  For  the  per 
sonnel  of  Mr.  Thompson  and  addi 
tional  history  of  the  Messenger  I 
cannot  do  better  than  to  quote  at 
length  from  a  letter  by  Mr.  B.  B. 
Minor  to  this  writer.  Be  it  remem 
bered  that  Mr.  Minor  was  the  im 
mediate  predecessor  of  Mr.  Thomp- 
388 


3obn  TReubcn  Gbompson, 

son  as  editor.  In  answer  to  some 
questions  propounded  concerning 
Thompson  he  says : 

"Mr.  Thompson  was  rather  low 
in  stature,  neat  and  prim  and  at 
tentive  to  his  dress  and  personal  ap 
pearance.  His  address  was  good, 
but  rather  studied ;  his  conversation 
was  pleasant,  and  he  had  some  hu 
mor;  his  manner  was  respectful  and 
unassuming,  but  painstaking  and 
ingratiating;  he  was  a  man  of  cul 
ture  and  aesthetic  taiste.  You  ask 
also  about  his  lectures,  etc.  They 
were  well  and  correctly  prepared, 
but  he  had  little  oratorical  power, 
and  was  only  a  fair  and  pleasant 
reader.  He  did  write  other  poems 
besides  those  relating  to  the  war. 
One  was  delivered  at  one  of  the  cel 
ebrations  here  in  regard  to  our 
splendid  Washington  monument. 
It  was  published  at  the  time.  I 
have  never  seen  any  volume  of  his. 
.  .  .  I  wish  to  correct,  or  per 
haps  amplify,  one  statement  in  Ap- 
389 


3obn  "Reuben  tlbompson. 

pleton.  It  is  there  said  that  Mr. 
Thompson  was  elected  as  editor  of 
the  Southern  Literary  Messenger. 
He  'elected'  himself  just  as  I  had 
done.  There  was,  however,  a  busi 
ness  difference  between  his  position 
and  mine.  In  August,  1843,  I  °^ 
my  own  accord  purchased  from  the 
administrator  of  Mr.  Thomas  W. 
White,  its  founder,  the  whole  es 
tablishment  of  the  Southern  Literary 
Messenger,  printing  office  and  all, 
and  employed  the  same  force.  Aft 
er  a  while  two  of  the  printers  formed 
a  partnership,  and  bought  from  me 
the  entire  printing  department,  but 
continued  to  be  the  printers  and 
publishers  of  the  magazine  for  me. 
When  I  sold  to  Mr.  Thompson  I 
conveyed  to  him  only  the  magazine, 
but  he  made  the  same  arrangements 
with  the  printers.  When  Mr. 
Thompson  left  the  Messenger  to  go 
to  Augusta,  Ga.,  he  sold  out  to  the 
printers,  and  thereafter  they  elected 
and  engaged  editors,  as,  in  fact,  Mr. 
390 


Sobn  IReuben  {Thompson. 

Thomas  White  had  done  in  his  life 
time,  for  he  too  was  a  printer,  and 
not  a  literary  man.  Thus  you  see 
that  Mr.  Thompson's  tastes  and 
ambition,  which  were  similar  to 
mine,  led  him  to  purchase  the  mag 
azine  from  me." 

In  addition,  a  personal  descrip 
tion  by  James  Wood  Davidson  may 
be  of  interest : 

"In  person  Mr.  Thompson  is  a 
small  and  slender  man,  of  easy  man 
ner;  dresses  with  marked  taste;  has 
an  engaging  and  steady  blue  eye, 
and  a  voice  low,  earnest,  and  brisk, 
with  a  well-defined  emphasis  in  talk 
ing;  converses  well;  wears  Amer 
ican  whiskers,  of  neutral  yellowish 
color;  has  hair  darker,  and  thin, 
with  an  approach  toward  baldness ; 
is  not  married." 

Davidson  wrote  in  the  lifetime  of 
Thompson.  Of  his  critical  work 
and  lectures  Davidson  says : 

"As  a  lecturer,  he  has  appeared 
on  several  occasions,  and  always 
391 


3obn  IReuben  Gbompson. 

with  success.  His  immense  fund 
of  information,  and  the  ready  adapt 
ive  faculty  of  his  mind,  render  him 
eminently  fitted  for  this  sphere,  and 
eminently  successful  in  it.  The  one 
of  his  lectures  most  attractive  to 
myself  personally,  and  upon  a  sub 
ject  best  suited  to  his  genius,  was 
that  delivered  before  the  Young 
Men's  Christian  Association  in 
Richmond  during  the  War,  upon  the 
life  and  character  of  Edgar  A.  Poe. 
The  lecturer's  intimate  personal  ac 
quaintance  with  Poe  and  the  sphere 
of  Poe's  genius  and  labors,  togeth 
er  with  the  lecturer's  liberal  views 
upon  life  and  literature,  and  his 
broad  catholic  charity  for  the  eccen 
tricities  of  his  erratjc  brother's  fe 
vered  but  godlike  genius,  made  him 
preeminently  the  man  to  lecture  on 
that  subject,  and  made  the  lecture 
a  masterpiece  in  its  way.  As  a  lec 
turer,  Mr.  Thompson's  style  is  pure, 
clear,  vigorous,  direct,  and  impress 
ive.  As  an  editor  and  critical  writ- 
392 


Jobn  TReuben  Gbompson. 

er  he  stands,  as  I  have  said,  very 
high;  and  his  style  in  this  sphere 
of  labor  is  ais  fine,  as  polished,  and 
ornate  as  that  of  any  American 
writer  that  I  have  re'ad." 

To  continue  the  life  of  our  poet- 
editor,  he  left  the  Messenger  in  1859 
on  account  of  delicate  health,  and 
went  South,  to  Augusta,  Ga.,  where 
he  edited  the  Southern  Field  and 
Fireside.  He  had  gone  to  Europe 
for  his  health  in  1854.  While  there 
he  wrote  letters  of  travel  which  were 
brought  out  in  book  form,  but  the 
edition,  save  the  author's  copy,  was 
burned  in  the  publishing  house.  In 
1863,  both  for  health  and  with  a 
hope  of  aiding  the  Confederacy,  he 
again  sought  Europe.  Temporary 
improvement  came  to  him,  and  he 
became  either  editor  or  a  member 
of  the  staff  of  the  London  Index. 
After  the  war  he  returned  to  Amer 
ica  and  became  literary  editor  of  the 
New  York  Evening  Post,  a  position 
which  at  once  brought  him  the  ac- 
8  393 


5obn  "Reuben  ttbompson. 

qtraintance  and  soon  the  friendly  in 
terest  of  a  large  number  of  the  liter 
ary  celebrities  of  the  day.  A  losing 
fight  tor  health  continued.  His  last 
effort  at  recovery  resulted  in  a  trip 
to  Colorado  in  the  winter  of  1872, 
from  which  he  returned  to  die  in 
New  York  April  30,  1873.  He  is 
buried  in  Hollywood  Cemetery,  at 
Richmond.  Mr.  Thompson  was 
never  married. 

Though  some  of  his  poems  be 
came  as  household  words  in  the 
South,  especially  during  the  war,  as 
said,  by  far  his  best  work  was  done 
as  editor.  On  taking  charge  of  the 
Southern  Literary  Messenger,  in  No 
vember,  1847,  ne  Put  forth  his  ad 
dress  as  follows : 

"The  present  number  of  the  Mes 
senger  comes  to  you  under  the  guid 
ance  of  a  new  editor.  On  the  cover 
you  will  read  a  strange: 's  name 
where  you  have  been  wont  to  see 
one  endeared  to  you  by  a  long  and 
pleasant  intercourse.  In  the  ed- 
394 


3obn  IReuben  ^bompson. 

[tor's  corner  you  will  miss  the  famil 
iar  teachings  of  a  pen  which  has 
held  excellent  converse  with  you 
during  a  period  of  four  years.  The 
person  on  whom  has  fallen  his  edi 
torial  mantle  now  addresses  you, 
and  as  the  public  ear  is  ever  open  to 
the  cadences  of  an  unaccustomed 
voice, 

As  when  a  well-graced  actor  leaves  the 

stage 

The  eyes  of  men 
Are  idly  bent  on  him  who  enters  next, 

he  supposes  you  will  grant  a  pa 
tient  hearing  while  he  ventures  a 
few  words  by  way  of  salutation.  In 
this  place,  however,  he  has  some 
thing  to  say  beyond  a  mere  friendly 
greeting.  It  is  proper  that  the  Mes 
senger  should  be  discussed  in  con 
nection  with  its  history,  its  pros 
pects,  and  its  aims.  The  occasion 
invites,  too,  some  serious  reflections 
on  the  literature  of  the  country  and 
the  causes  which  have  hitherto  op 
erated  to  retard  its  progress.  These 
395 


5obn  "Reuben  iSbompson. 

are  kindred  topics,  and  deserve  at 
our  hand's  an  attentive  considera 
tion.     We  presume  that  none  will 
dispute  the  proposition  that  an  ex 
alted  literature  is  the  noblest  trait  in 
a  national  character.    The  Chinese 
have  a  proverb  that  letters  and  hus 
bandry  'are  the  two  principal  pro 
fessions.      Certainly   there   can   be 
nothing  better  calculated  to  human 
ize  a  people,  to  raise  them  in  the 
standard  of  true  greatness,  than  an 
expansive  intellectual  development. 
It  gives  them  an  influence  surpass 
ing  theprestigeof  military  fame,  and 
a  power  that  shall  survive  the  wreck 
of  dynasties  and  thrones.    Accord 
ingly  all  history  goes  to  establish 
that  those  nations  who  have  most 
cultivated  polite  letters  have  exer 
cised  the  largest  sway  over  human 
affairs  and  left  us  the  worthiest  ex 
amples  of  national  renown.     Why 
do  we  venerate  Athens  above  all 
the  cities  of  antiquity?    Because  she 
has  bequeathed  to  us  the  rich  leg- 
396 


Jobn  IReubcn  {Thompson. 

acy  of  an  imperishable  literature, 
and  upon  her  models  we  are  taught 
to  form  our  style.  What  throws  a 
halo  around  the  pontificate  of  Leo 
X.?  Assuredly  its  literary  luster. 
If  we  look  back  to  the  age  of 
Elizabeth  or  Louis,  we  shall  find 
their  most  permanent  glory  not 
in  Turenne  leading  vast  armies  in 
the  field,  or  Raleigh  giving  chaise  to 
the  galleons  of  Spain,  but  in  their 
mental  wealth  —  in  Shakespeare, 
Massinger,  Jonson,  and  Marlowe, 
in  Corneille,  Racine,  Bossuet,  and 
Massillon.  Humiliating  to  our 
pride  as  may  be  the  confession,  4it 
must  be  admitted  that  America  has 
added  little  as  yet  to  the  garners  of 
intellect.  In  the  physical  sciences 
and  the  mechanical  arts,  we  have  ac 
complished  great  results.  The 
finest  merchant  navy  in  the  world 
wafts  to  our  shores  the  products  of 
the  Orient,  and  carries  back  the  fab 
rics  of  a  thousand  looms.  The 
prophetic  rhapsody  of  Darwin  has 
397 


3obn  "Reuben  Gbompson. 

been  more  than  fulfilled  in  our  fa 
cilities  of  locomotion,  and  it  has 
been  reserved  for  an  American,  in 
the  wondrous  invention  of  the  tele 
graph,  to  reduce  to  practical  utility 
what  an  old  writer  foreshadowed  as 
a  figment  of  fancy.  But  we  are  still 
dependent  on  our  transatlantic 
brethren  for  the  more  important  and 
considerable  portion  of  our  litera 
ture.  We  can  point  as  yet  to  no 
poem  of  American  composition 
which  is  likely  to  become  a  classic. 
The  sketches  of  Irving  and  the  his 
tories  of  Prescott  have  indeed  re 
flected  credit  on  our  literary  pre 
tensions,  and  pleasant  Sidney 
Smith,  were  he  now  among  the  liv 
ing,  could  ask  no  longer,  "Who 
reads  an  American  book?"  But  as 
a  great  continent,  we  cannot  deny 
that  we  are  still  in  literary  leading- 
strings.  To  account  for  this  ac 
knowledged  inferiority  many  causes 
have  been  assigned.  .  .  .  And 
among  them  we  regard  ais  most  im- 
398 


Jobn  TReuben 


portant  our  peculiar  social  condi 
tions,  growing  out  of  our  position 
as  a  new  country.  In  all  infant 
communities  the  attention  of  the 
people  is  first  of  all  directed  to  the 
exigencies  of  the  State.  To  rear 
habitable  settlements,  to  cultivate 
the  soil,  to  establish  commercial 
relations,  to  provide  a  system  of 
national  defense,  these  are  the  oc 
cupations  which  demand  their  ear 
liest  concern.  In  a  meager  popu 
lation  no  one  can  be  spared  from 
these  urgent  duties  to  foster  let 
ters,  the  want  of  which  cannot  yet 
be  felt.  From  the  very  nature  of 
things  there  can  be  no  literary  class, 
The  temples  of  justice  must  precede 
the  lyceum  and  the  university,  and 
there  must  be  laid  an  agricultural 
basis  for  all  the  branches  of  intel 
lectual  research.  While  the  ener 
gies  of  our  infant  republic  have 
been  directed  to  these  necessary  ob 
jects,  letters  and  the  arts  have  pro 
gressed  in  England  and  on  the 
399 


Jobn  TReuben  tTbompson. 

Continent  under  the  encouraging 
auspices  oi  a  class  of  men  whose 
whole  time  is  devoted  to  literary 
pursuits.  .  .  .  We  have  been 
engaged,  too,  in  a  great  political 
experiment.  The  struggle  for  free 
dom  in  this  Western  hemisphere, 
an  issue  between  the  powers  of  light 
and  the  powers  of  darkness,  broke 
out  just  at  that  period  of  our  his 
tory  when  we  were  preparing  to 
put  forth  some  literary  efforts,  and 
those  who  under  other  circum 
stances  would  have  added  to  the 
treasures  of  the  language  which 
Ch'a'tham  spoke  were  absorbed  in 
the  shock  and  stir  of  passing  events. 
The  people  of  these  colonies  turned 
from  the  peaceful  avocations  which 
had  employed  them  and  made  a 
united  opposition  to  the  aggres 
sions  of  the  English  Parliament 
and  Crown.  They  appealed  to  the 
God  of  Battles  to  decide  a  momen 
tous  question,  and  until  that  deci 
sion  was  rendered  they  abandoned 
400 


5obn  IReuben  Gbompscn. 

all  other  pursuits.  When  peace  at 
last  smiled  on  their  victorious 
eagles  a  government  was  framed 
which  was  to  demonstrate  a  prob 
lem  in  political  science,  and  from 
the  day  which  saw  the  signatures 
affixed  to  the  immortal  instrument 
which  binds  us  together  to  the  pres 
ent  time  the  first  minds  of  the  na 
tion  have  never  ceased  to  regard 
the  operation  of  that  government 
with  zealous  and  anxious  interest. 
We  cannot  regret  this,  even  while 
we  deduce  from  it  our  literary  pov 
erty,  for  if  the  price  of  liberty  be 
eternal  vigilance  and  the  cause  of 
free  institutions  be  threatened  by 
open  enemies  from  without  and 
treacherous  friends  within  the  State 
cannot  be  guarded  with  too  watch 
ful  a  care.  This  untiring  devotion 
to  politics  has  not  been  without 
happy  effects  in  exhibiting  the  most 
gratifying  proofs  of  the  capacity  of 
our  people  in  the  highest  efforts  of 
forensic  eloquence,  of  statesman- 
401 


5obn  "Reuben  Cbompson. 

ship  and  diplomacy.  In  the  pro 
gressive  changes  of  the  country, 
then,  from  a  sparsely  settled  region 
to  one  swarming  with  an  opulent 
and  enlightened  population  have 
we  not  abundant  reason  to  hope  for 
a  noble  literature,  adapted  to  our 
sensibilities  and  adequate  to  our 
wants?  When  some  future  Waver- 
ley  shall  depict  the  domestic  char 
ities  and  homebred  virtues  of  Amer 
ica  in  the  pages  of  fiction,  or  some 
unborn  minstrel  shall  'wake  to  ec 
stasy  the  living  lyre,'  he  will  find 
millions  to  laugh  and  weep  over 
his  chapters,  or  to  be  roused  by  his 
strains  from  tire  chain  of  the  Alle- 
ghanies  to 

The  continuous  woods 
Where  rolls  the  Oregon,  and  hears  no 

sound 
Save  his  own  dashings. 

"In  the  cause  of  Southern  let 
ters  the  Messenger  has  labored  ear 
nestly,  and  we  trust  not  without 
success,  since  the  appearance  of  its 
402 


5obn  IReubcn  Cbompson. 

first  nuimber  in  1834.  Month  after 
month  it  has  reached  you  freighted 
with  rich  and  valuable  stores  of  in 
struction  and  amusement.  It  has 
not  indeed  sought  to  beguile  an  idle 
hour  without  leaving  some  useful 
impression  on  the  mind  of  the  read 
er.  The  contributors,  who  have 
filled  its  pages  have  not  written 
thoughtlessly,  nor  have  they  en 
deavored  by  flippanlt  common 
places  to  'catch,  as  she  flies,  the 
Cynthia  of  the  minute.'  Content  to 
stand  upon  its  own  merits  in  the 
estimate  of  an  impartial  public,  it 
has  left  to  others  those  adventitious 
aids  and  (so-called)  embellishments 
by  which  the  eye  of  the  million  is 
caught  in  this  day  of  mezzotint  en 
graving.  It  has  put  forth  as  orig 
inal  no  bad  copies  of  tawdry  pic 
tures  in  the  English  annals,  nor  has 
it  circulated  a  monthly  fashion 
plate  to  show  how  the  extravagant 
demoiselles  of  the  Faubourg  St. 
Germain  dress  themselves  for  a 
403 


$obn  IReuben  Cbompson. 

ship  and  diplomacy.  In  the  pro 
gressive  changes  of  the  country, 
then,  from  a  sparsely  settled  region 
to  one  swarming  with  an  opulent 
and  enlightened  population  have 
we  not  abundant  reason  to  hope  for 
a  noble  literature,  adapted  to  our 
sensibilities  and  adequate  to  our 
wants?  When  some  future  Waver- 
ley  shall  depict  the  domestic  char 
ities  and  homebred  virtues  of  Amer 
ica  in  the  pages  of  fiction,  or  some 
unborn  minstrel  shall  'wake  to  ec 
stasy  the  living  lyre/  he  will  find 
millions  to  laugh  and  weep  over 
his  chapters,  or  to  be  roused  by  his 
strains  from  the  chain  of  the  Alle- 
ghanies  to 

The  continuous  woods 
Where  rolls  the  Oregon,  and  hears  no 

sound 
Save  his  own  dashings. 

"In  the  cause  of  Southern  let 
ters  the  Messenger  has  labored  ear 
nestly,  and  we  trust  not  without 
success,  since  the  appearance  of  its 
402 


Jobn  IReubcn  Cbompson. 

first  nuimber  in  1834.  Month  after 
month  it  has  reached  you  freighted 
with  rich  and  valuable  stores  of  in 
struction  and  amusement.  It  has 
not  indeed  sought  to  beguile  an  idle 
hour  without  leaving  some  useful 
impression  on  the  mind  of  the  read 
er.  The  contributors,  who  have 
filled  its  pages  have  not  written 
thoughtlessly,  nor  have  they  en 
deavored  by  flippanlt  common 
places  to  'catch,  as  she  flies,  the 
Cynthia  of  the  minute.'  Content  to 
stand  upon  its  own  merits  in  the 
estimate  of  an  impartial  public,  it 
has  left  to  others  those  adventitious 
aids  and  (so-called)  embellishments 
by  which  the  eye  of  the  million  is 
caught  in  this  day  of  mezzoitint  en 
graving.  It  has  put  forth  as  orig 
inal  no  bad  copies  of  tawdry  pic 
tures  in  the  English  annals,  nor  has 
it  circulated  a  monthly  fashion 
plate  to  show  how  the  extravagant 
demoiselles  of  the  Faubourg  St. 
Germain  dress  themselves  for  a 
403 


5obn  "Keuben  ^Thompson. 

morning  call.  It  has  ever  had  a 
higher  aim  and  exercised  a  nobler 
ministry.  It  has  attempted  to  pre 
sent  some  truths  in  manifestations 
more  lovely  and  imposing  than 
they  had  before  assumed,  and  thus 
to  fasten  them  upon  the  moral  per 
ception.  It  has  enlisted  in  the  pros 
ecution  of  literary  studies  many 
minds  whose  light  might  other 
wise  have  been  long  obscured.  In 
commending  the  lessons  of  history, 
and  by  a  salutary  recurrence  to  the 
recorded  experience  of  our  own 
country,  it  has  wiped  the  dust  from 
the  urns  of  the  illustrious  dead  and 
held  up  their  characters  to  the  af 
fectionate  remembrance  and  imita 
tion  of  the  living.  In  an  age  of 
prosing  realities  and  calculating 
utilitarianism,  it  has  labored  to 
gather  up  every  fragment  of  intel 
lect,  to  refine  the  taste,  to  soften 
the  asperities  of  party  warfare,  and 
to  invest  with  poetic  beauty  the 
daily  walks  of  life." 
404 


Jobn  TReuben  {Thompson. 

Brief  as  is  this  selection  from  a 
long  address,  it  shows  the  beauty  and 
excellence  of  Mr.  Thompson's  prose 
and  gives  some  idea  of  the  great  loss 
to  the  South  occurring  from  the  fact 
that  no  collection  of  his  best  work 
h'as  been  made.  He  left  a  diary  of 
his  last  trip  -to  Europe  and  other 
papers  in  the  hands  of  the  poet 
R.  H.  Stoddard,  who  published  an 
installment  in  Lippincott  for  No 
vember,  1888.  It  is  to  be  hoped 
that  the  aged  poet  will  give  us  addi 
tional  facts  and  selections.  Some 
of  Thompson's  occasional  poems 
were  too  occasional — that  is,  were 
sent  forth  wi'th  too  little  care  of 
preparation.  Others  are  among  the 
most  graceful  ever  penned  in  Amer 
ica.  Same  of  his  most  admired 
poems  are  "The  Burial  of  Latane," 
"The  Death  of  Stewart,"  "The  Bat 
tle  Rainbow,"  and  "Ashby,"  though 
many  others  have  a  high  order  of 
merit.  A  selection  of  three  stanzas 
is  made  from  "The  Battle  Rain- 
405 


5obn  IReuben  Cbompson. 

bow."  The  rainbow  of  the  poem 
was  seen  from  Richmond  during 
the  seven  days  of  blood  in  1862  : 

For  the  fierce  flame  of  war  on  the  mor 
row  flashed  out, 
And  its  thunder  peals   filled  all  the 

tremulous  air; 

Over    slipp'ry    entrenchment    and    red 
dened  redoubt 

Rung  the  wild  cheer  of  triumph,  the 
cry  of  despair. 

Then  a  long  week  of  glory  and  agony 

came — 
Of   mute    supplication   and   yearning 

and  dread; 
When  day  unto  day  gave  the  record  of 

fame, 

And  night  unto  night  gave  the  list 
of  its  dead. 

We   had   triumphed — the   foe   had   fled 

back  to  his  ships, 
His  standard  in  rags  and  his  legions 

a  wreck; 
But  alas!  the  stark  faces  and  colorless 

lips 

Of  our  loved  ones  gave  triumph's  re 
joicings  a  check. 
406 


5obn  IReuben  ITbompson. 

From  the  Alumni  Bulletin  of  the 
University  of  Virginia,  dated  Au 
gust,  1899,  is  taken  the  following: 

"A  large  portrait  of  the  poet, 
John  R.  Thompson,  which  had  been 
presented  by  the  artist,  Mrs.  Mariet 
ta  Minnegerode  Andrews,  of  Wash 
ington,  was  unveiled  in  the  public 
hall  on  Monday,  June  12,  at  n  A.M. 
Dr.  Barringer  presided,  and  the  ex 
ercises  were  opened  with  prayer  by 
the  Rev.  Dr.  Alexander  Barr,  of 
Richmond.  The  portrait  was  pre 
sented  by  the  Hon.  R.  Walton 
Moore,  of  Fairfax,  and  accepted  by 
Prof.  William  M.  Thornton. 

"Thompson's  life  was  sketched 
by  Capt.  William  McCabe,  of  Rich 
mond;  letters  of  appreciation  were 
read  by  Dr.  C.  W.  Kent;  a  me 
morial  ode  by  the  Rev.  Dr.  Bever 
ly  D.  Tucker,  of  Norfolk,  followed ; 
and  finally,  Thompson's  "Burial  of 
Latane"  was  read  by  the  Hon.  Arm- 
istead  C.  Gordon,  of  Staunton.  The 
"Burial  of  Latane"  is  here  given : 
407 


3obn  iReuben  Cbornpson. 

[In  Gen.  Stuart's  famous  raid  around 
the  rear  of  McClellan's  army  Capt. 
Latane*  was  the  only  man  killed.  His 
brother,  returning  after  the  fight,  carried 
the  body  to  Dr.  Brockenbrough's  planta 
tion,  near  by,  and  left  it  with  Mrs.  Brock  - 
enbrough  to  be  interred.  Mrs.  Brocken- 
brough  sent  for  a  clergyman  to  perform 
the  funeral  rites;  but  he  not  being  per 
mitted  to  pass,  she  read  the  burial  serv 
ice  herself,  some  ladies  of  the  family 
and  a  few  faithful  servants  forming  a 
small,  sad  audience.  This  scene  has 
been  made  the  subject  of  a  touching  pic 
ture  by  Mr.  Washington.] 

THE  BURIAL  OF  LATANE. 

The  combat  raged  not  long,  but  ours 

the  day, 

And,   through   the   hosts   that   com 
passed  us  around, 

Our  little  band  rode  proudly  on  its  way, 
Leaving  one  gallant  comrade  glory- 
crowned, 

Unburied  on  the  field  he  died  to  gain — 

Alone,  of  all  his  men,  amid  the  hostile 
slain. 

One  moment  on  the  battle's  edge  he 

stood; 

Hope's  halo,  like  a  helmet,  round  his 
hair; 

408 


Jobn  IKeuben  ftbompson. 

The  next  beheld  him,   dabbled  in  his 

blood, 
Prostrate  in  death;  and  yet,  in  death 

how  fair! 
Even  thus  he  passed   through  the   red 

gates  of  strife, 
From  earthly  crowns  and  palms  to  an 

immortal  life. 

A  brother  bore  his  body  from  the  field, 
And  gave  it  unto   strangers'   hands, 
that  closed 

The  calm  blue  eyes,   on  earth  forever 
sealed,  N 

And  tenderly  the  slender  limbs  com 
posed: 

Strangers,  yet  sisters,  who  with  Mary's 
love 

Sat   by   the   open    tomb,    and,    weeping, 
looked  above. 

A  little  child  strewed  roses  on  his  bier — 
Pale  roses,  not  more  stainless  than 
his  soul, 

Nor  yet  more  fragrant  than  his  life  sin 
cere, 

That  blossomed  with  good  actions — 
brief,  but  whole; 

The  aged  matron  and  the  faithful  slave 

Approached,    with    reverent    feet,    the 
hero's  lowly  grave. 
9  409 


$obn  "Keuben  ^bompson. 

No  man  of  God  might  say  the  burial 

rite 

Above  the  "rebel" — thus  declared  the 
foe— 

That  blanched  before  him  in  the  deadly 

fight; 

But  woman's  voice,  with  accents  soft 
and  low, 

Trembling  with  pity,  touched  with  pa 
thos,  read  • 

Over  his  hallowed  dust  the  ritual  for 
the  dead. 

"  'Tis  sown  in  weakness,  it  is  raised  in 

power." 
Softly  the  promise  floated  on  the  air, 

While  the  low  breathings  of  the  sunset 

hour 

Came  back  responsive  to  the  mourn 
er's  prayer. 

Gently   they   laid   him   underneath   the 
sod, 

And  left  him  with  his  fame,  his  country, 
and  his  God! 

A 

Let  us  not  weep  for  him,  whose  deeds 

endure. 
So  young,  so  brave,  so  beautiful!    He 

died 

As  he  had  wished  to  die;  the  past  is 
sure; 

410 


Jobn  IRcubcn  {Thompson. 

Whatever  yet  of  sorrow  may  betide 
Those  who  still  linger  by  the  stormy 

shore, 

Change  cannot  harm  him  now,  nor  for 
tune  touch  him  more. 

And    when    Virginia,    leaning    on    her 

spear, 
Victrix  et  vidua — the  conflict  done — 

Shall  raise  her  mailed  hand  to  wipe  the 

tear 

That  starts  as  she  recalls  each  mar 
tyred  son, 

No  prouder  memory  her  breast  shall 
sway 

Than   thine,   our   early  host,   lamented 
Latane! 

Since  Thompson  was  an  ardent 
Southerner  the  tragedy  of  his  times 
stirred  his  poetic  fervor  to  deeper 
strains,  but  "The  Greek  Slave," 
"Virginia,"  "Patriotism,"  and  par 
ticularly  "Carcassonne,"  translated 
from  the  French,  are  lit  up  with 
poetic  fire.  One  little  thing  written 
earlier  is  here  reproduced,  as  show 
ing  Mr.  Thompson  in  lighter  vein. 
It  is  called 

411 


3obn  "Reuben  TTbompson. 
A  PICTURE. 

Across  the  narrow,  dusty  street 

I  see,  at  early  dawn, 
A  little  girl  with  glancing  feet, 

As  agile  as  the  fawn. 


An  hour  or  so  and  forth  she  goes, 
The  school  she  brightly  seeks; 

She  carries  in  her  hand  a  rose, 
And  two  upon  her  cheeks. 

The  sun  mounts  up  the  torrid  sky; 

The  bell  for  dinner  rings; 
My  little  friend,  with  laughing  eye, 

Comes  gayly  back  and  sings. 

The  week  wears  off,  and  Saturday — 
A  welcome  day,  I  ween — 

Gives  time  for  girlish  romp  and  play- 
How  glad  my  pet  is  seen ! 

But  Sunday — in  what  satins  great 

Does  she  not  then  appear! 
King  Solomon,  in  all  his  state, 

Wore  no  such  pretty  gear. 

I  fling  her  every  day  a  kiss, 

And  one  she  flings  to  me. 
I  know  not  truly  when  it  is 

She  prettiest  may  be. 
412 


Jobn  IReuben 


"Patriotism,"  written  in  1856,  is 
worthy  of  reproduction  : 

Whoe'er    has    stood    upon    the    Rigi's 

height 
And    watched    the    sunset    fading    into 

night, 
While  every  moment  some  new  star  was 

born 
From    the    bold    Egar    to    the    Wetter- 

horn, 

Has  seen,  as  steadily  the  airy  tide 
Of  darkness  deepened  up  the  mountain 

side, 
The   glowing   summits   slowly,   one   by 

one, 
Lose  the  soft  crimson  splendor  of  the 

sun 

(Like  altar  lights  in  some  cathedral  dim 
Extinguished    singly    with    the    dying 

hymn) 

Till  the  last  flush  would  lovingly  repose 
Upon  the  Jungfrau's  purple  waste  of 

snows. 
Thus,    O    my   country,    when   primeval 

gloom 
Shall  over  earth  its  ancient  reign  re 

sume; 
When    night    eternal    shall    its    march 

begin 

413 


5obn  "Reuben  ^Thompson. 

O'er  the   round   world  and  all  that   is 

therein; 

As  dark  oblivion's  rising  waves  absorb 
All  human  trophies,  thus  shall  glory's 

orb 

Thy  lone  sublimity  the  latest  see 
And  pour  its  parting  radiance  on  thee! 
414 


3ame0  Barren  1bope* 

A  FEW  years  ago,  among  the 
twenty  and  odd  thousand  in 
habitants  of  Norfolk,  Va.,  one 
might  have  met  a  slender,  graceful 
man,  with  gray  eyes  under  a  broad 
while  forehead,  a  carefully  kept 
gray  beard,  and  a  manner  refined 
and  Southern  and  as  courtly  as  that 
of  Sir  Roger  de  Coverley.  A  Nor 
folk  child  would  have  pointed  out 
the  pale-faced,  thoughtful  gentle 
man  as  the  superintendent  of  city 
schools ;  to  a  citizen  he  would  have 
been  the  founder  and  editor  of  the 
Norfolk  Landmark;  the  music  folks 
would  have  greeted  him  as  the 
President  of  the  St.  Cecilia  Musical 
Society;  the  "crippled  Confeder 
ate"  would  have  felt  his  heart  beat 
faster  as  he  caught  the  glance  of 
that  eye  and  saluted  the  command- 
415 


Sames  Barren  1bope. 

er  of  his  camp  of  veterans ;  almost 
any  distinguished  Virginian  would 
have  said :  "This  is  our  poet,  Capt. 
J.  Barron  Hope,  who  wears  well 
all  these  honors." 

To  deliver  three  great  anniver 
sary  poems  in  a  little  more  than  a 
year  is  an  attainment  large  enough, 
it  would  seem,  to  satisfy  any  ambi 
tion.  This  honor  fell  to  Hope 
when,  on  the  two  hundred  and  fif 
tieth  anniversary,  May  13,  1857, 
he  read  a  poem  celebrating  the  first 
English  settlement  at  Jamestown; 
on  February  22,  1858,  he  recited  a 
poem  at  the  base  of  the  Washing 
ton  statue  on  Capitol  Square,  Rich 
mond  ;  on  July  4,  1858,  he  delivered 
a  poem  before  the  graduating  class 
of  William  and  Mary. 

Any  of  these,  delivered  in  New 
England,  would  have  been  thought 
worthy  of  more  than  local  interest. 
But  the  storm  clouds  of  war,  which 
overshadowed  so  much  Southern 
literature,  were  even  then  in  the 
416 


Barnes  3Sarron  1bope. 

air.  This  poem  on  Washington 
breathes  a  dread  of  their  portent. 
The  poet  himself  was  soon  to  lay 
down  the  quill  of  Jove's  bird  and 
grasp  the  hilt  of  a  shining  blade  as 
his  fathers  had  done.  The  same 
year  in  which  he  delivered  the  first 
of  these  poems  Lippencott  pub 
lished  "Leoni  Di  Monata,  and  Oth 
er  Poems,"  by  James  Barron  Hope. 
Among  the  "other  poems"  was 
"Balaklava,"  which  so  delighted  the 
late  English  novelist  James,  then 
British  consul  at  Richmond,  that  he 
sent  a  copy  to  the  queen.  It  was 
graciously  acknowledged  by  her, 
and,  being  published  in  England, 
received  many  favorable  notices 
from  eminent  men  of  that  day. 
James  thought  it  "not  one  whit  be 
hind  Tennyson's  version  of  the  same 
conflict  as  given  in  the  'Charge  of 
the  Light  Brigade.' "  The  martial 
spirit  of  the  South  has  caused  three 
of  her  poets  (Hope,  Alexander 
Smith,  and  Judge  Meek)  to  at- 
417 


Barnes  asarron  1bope. 

tempt  this  same  stirring  theme.  In 
1859  Hope  gathered  into  another 
volume  his  "Anniversary"  and  some 
other  poems.  This  was  published 
in  Richmond,  and  hence  was  too  far 
South  and  too  near  the  war  to  out 
ride  the  storm.  It  shared  the  fate 
of  that  much-praised  first  volume  of 
Flash's,  published  a  year  later.  It 
costs  an  effort  now  to  find  any  of 
these  books. 

From  these  Southern  works,  sev 
eral  of  which  are  before  me,  it  can 
easily  be  shown  that,  while  the  war 
may  have  made,  it  also  blighted  a 
goodly  company  of  rising  poets. 
Hope  was  of  fighting  stock.  On 
his  mother's  side  he  was  a  son  of 
the  Barrens,  of  naval  fame.  He 
had  already  been  dangerously 
wounded  on  the  "field  of  honor," 
and  had  been  on  a  cruise  to  the 
West  Indies.  Of  course  he  went 
into  the  war.  He  came  out  cap 
tain.  He  seems  to  have  served 
Mars,  and  not  the  Muses,  during 
418 


3amcs  3Batton  1bope. 

these  dark  years,  and  the  duties  of 
the  editorship  which  he  soon  after 
assumed  kept  his  feet  from  Parnas 
sus  save  at  intervals  for  years  after. 
His  genius  was  not  forgotten.  Too 
often  had  his  articles  for  his  paper 
shaken  off  their  "prose  and  mount 
ed  up  into  the  dignity  and  beauty  of 
measured  rhythm  for  the  powers  of 
the  poet  to  be  utterly  lost  to  view." 
When  the  centennial  of  the  surren 
der  at  Yorktown  was  to  be  cele 
brated  Capt.  Hope  was  invited  by  a 
committee  of  Congress  to  deliver  a 
poem.  He  complied,  and  delivered 
a  "metrical  address"  in  the  pres 
ence  of  a  vast  assembly,  among 
which  were  representatives  from 
France.  With  this  address,  in 
measure,  it  is  said  "he  stirred  the 
throng  about  him  as  if  it  had  been 
one  man."  There  was  such  power 
in  the  delivery  as  well  as  in  the 
poem  that  at  the  close  Americans 
and  French  "pressed  around  him 
with  praise  and  enthusiasm."  The 
419 


3Barron  Ibope. 

lessons  of  patriotism  in  this  ode 
should  be  taught  in  every  house 
hold,  and  the  martial  ring  of  its  po 
etry  has  not  been  surpassed  in  this 
country.  This  was  published  in  a 
volume  with  a  revised  "Balaklava" 
and  a  few  other  poems  in  1882. 
Hope  was  naturally  selected  to  re 
cite  the  poem  for  the  laying  of  the 
corner  stone  to  the  monument  of 
his  chief  in  arms,  Lee,  which  took 
place  at  Richmond  October  26, 
1887.  The  poem  was  written,  but 
before  it  was  read  the  writer  was 
still  in  death.  The  recitation  of  this 
poem  by  Capt.  McCabe,  the  great 
Petersburg  teacher,  "was  frequent 
ly  interrupted  by  rapturous  ap 
plause."  In  his  other  poem  Wash 
ington  had  been  his  ideal.  He 
called  his  Yorktown  ode  "Arms 
and  the  Man,"  and  "the  man"  was 
Washington.  In  this  he  says  : 

And  to-day  Virginia  matches  him, 
And  matches  him  with  Lee. 
420 


Matron  Dope. 

In  a  letter  Capt.  McCabe  says 
Capt.  Hope  "wrote  the  Lee  poem 
almost  in  the  throes  of  death,"  and 
"undoubtedly  would  have  made 
some  changes  in  it  had  he  lived." 
This  draft  was  finished  September 
15,  and  on  the  i6th,  after  a  day  of 
his  usual  labors,  Mr.  Hope  passed 
away. 

The  running  wheel  often  throws 
off  bright  sparks  while  bearing  the 
weight  of  the  moving  train,  so  he, 
while  bearing  other  burdens  of  life, 
threw  off  these  bright  scintillations 
of  poetry.  Under  the  nom  de  plume 
of  Henry  Ellen  he  was  called  the 
"gifted  young  Virginian"  as  early  as 
1856.  Several  of  his  minor  poems  of 
early  date  are  of  delicate  fancy.  It 
may  be  said  that  he  was  brought  out 
by  the  Southern  Library  Messenger, 
which  brought  out  so  much  South 
ern  talent.  We  talk  of  "'the  recent 
movement  in  Southern  literature." 
We  have  seen  no  movement  such 
as  we  might  see  if  some  wealthy 
421 


James  3Barron  f>ope. 

man  or  corporation  should  estab 
lish  in  the  South  a  publication 
equal  in  make-up  to  the  great 
monthlies  of  the  East.  Such  a 
work  would  be  the  benefaction  of 
the  age.  Lasting  fame  is  for  some 
founder  of  such  enterprise.  The 
Virgils  and  Caesars  might  not 
cease  to  "fodder  cattle  and  keep 
sheep,"  but  the  lowings  of  the  cat 
tle  and  the  flowers  of  the  pastures 
would  be  turned  into  living  poesy 
and  given  a  "local  habitation  and 
a  name." 

The  principal  facts  concerning 
Hope  I  get  from  the  pen  of  his 
daughter,  Mrs.  Janey  B.  H.  Marr, 
herself  a  gifted  authoress.  He  was 
born  in  1829,  took  his  A.B.  at  Wil 
liam  and  Mary  in  1847,  was  then 
Secretary  to  his  uncle,  Commis 
sioner  Samuel  Barron,  made  a 
cruise  to  the  West  Indies,  was  se 
verely  wounded  in  an  "affair  of 
honor"  with  J.  Pembroke  Jones  in 
1849,  was  Commonwealth  Attorney 
422 


James  asarron  tbope. 

from  1856  to  the  war.  He  served 
through  the  war  with  courage  and 
fidelity,  then  took  up  his  pen  for  the 
routine  work  of  editor,  finally 
"founding  the  Norfolk  Landmark" 
which  he  edited  with  signal  ability. 
His  people  delighted  to  heap  hon 
ors  upon  him.  As  Commander  of 
the  camp  he  addressed  the  Confed 
erate  veterans  on  their  first  deco 
ration  day  in  these  stirring  lines : 

A  king  once  said  of  a  prince   struck 

down, 

Taller  he  seems  in  death; 
And  this  speech  holds  true,  for  now,  as 

then, 

'Tis  after  death  that  we  measure  men. 
And  as  mists  of  the  past  are  rolled  away 
Our  heroes,  who  died  in  their  tattered 

gray, 
Grow    taller    and    greater    in    all    their 

parts, 
Till  they  fill  our  minds  as  they  fill  our 

hearts, 
And  for  those  that  lament  them  there 

is  this  relief, 

That  glory  sits  by  the  side  of  grief. 
Yes,  they  grow  "taller"   as  the  years 

pass  by 

423 


James  JSatron  1bope. 

And  the  world  learns  how  they  could  do 
and  die. 

A  nation  respects  them.    The  East  and 

West, 

The  far-off  slope  of  the  Golden  Coast, 
The  stricken  South  and  the  North  agree 
That  the  heroes  who  died  for  you  and 

me — 

Each  valiant  man,  in  his  own  degree, 
Whether  he  fell  on  the  shore  or  sea, 
Did  deeds  of  which 
This  land,  though  rich 
la  histories,  may  boast, 
And  the  sage's  book  and  the  poet's  lay 
Are  full  of  the  deeds  of  the  men  in  gray. 

No  lion  cleft  from  the  rock  is  ours, 

Such  as  Lucerne  displays; 
Our  only  wealth  is  in  tears  and  flowers, 

And  words  of  reverent  praise. 
And  the  roses  brought  to  this   silent 

yard 

Are  red  and  white.     Behold! 
They  tell  how  wars  for  a  kingly  crown, 
In  the  blood   of   England's   best   writ 

down, 

Left  Britain  a  story  whose  moral  old 
Is  fit  to  be  graven  in  text  of  gold: 
The  moral  is,  that  when  battles  cease 
The  ramparts  smile  in  the  blooms  of 
peace, 

424 


Barnes  JBarron  1bope. 

And  flowers  to-day  were  hither  brought 
From  the  gallant  men  who  against  us 

fought, 

Each  to  itself  and  the  other  true! 
And  so  I  say 
Our  men  in  gray 

Have  left  to  the  South  and  North  a  tale 
Which  none  of  the  glories  of  earth  can 
pale. 

These  are  random  shots  o'er  the  men 

at  rest, 

But  each  rings  out  on  a  warrior's  crest. 
Yes,  names,  like  bayonet  points,  when 

massed, 
Blaze  out  as  we  gaze  on  the  splendid 

past. 

That  past  is  now  like  an  Arctic  sea 
Where  the  living  currents  have  ceased 

to  run, 
But  over  that  past  the  fame  of  Lee 

Shines  out  as  the  "Midnight  Sun;" 
And  that  glorious  orb,  in  its  march  sub 
lime, 

Shall   gild   our   graves   till   the   end   ot 
time! 

There    are     societies     of    many 
names  and  objects,  but  there  ought 
to  be  at  least  one  more.    It  is  just 
10  425 


James  33arron  1bope. 

barely  possible  now  to  obtain  cop 
ies  of  the  works  of  many  of  the  best 
Southern  writers.  Very  few  of 
these  are  found  in  any  public  libra 
ries,  not  even  those  of  the  South. 
Several  Southern  magazines  have 
been  for  a  time  waymarks  along1 
the  path  of  literature,  and  then  have 
passed  into  the  dim  regions  of  his 
tory.  Public  libraries,  which  con 
tain  even  obscure  British  journals, 
contain  no  files  of  these.  Their 
keepers  have  not  even  heard  the 
names.  Only  one  public  library  in 
these  parts,  so  far  as  the  writer 
knows,  contains  numbers  of  the 
Southern  Literary  Messenger,  yet 
that  was  founded  by  Edgar  A  Poe 
and  long  conducted  by  John  R. 
Thompson — poets  among  poets, 
Titans  in  literature.  Files  of  the 
"Land  We  Love"  before  me  con 
tain  such  poems  as  "Little  Giffen 
of  Tennessee;"  yet  such  files  are 
not  easy  to  be  procured.  Many 
volumes  of  good,  fair,  and  indiffer- 
426 


James  JJarron  Ibope. 

ent  literature  were  published  in  the 
years  just  before  the  war.  All  these 
things  should  be  preserved,  not 
merely  for  their  literary  value,  but 
to  show  the  world,  and  especially 
our  own  children,  what  literature 
the  South  really  produced.  It  is 
American  literature,  and  as  such 
should  be  gathered  and  preserved. 
A  society  might  do  this. 

I  have  before  me  three  volumes 
of  poems  by  J.  Barron  Hope.  Two, 
maybe  all,  are  out  of  print.  A  few 
selections  may  be  of  interest.  The 
"Charge  of  the  Light  Brigade,"  by 
Tennyson,  is  justly  considered  one 
of  the  finest  battle  lyrics.  Some 
have  thought  not  one  whit  inferior 
Hope's  "Balaklava,"  describing  the 
same  incident.  I  give  specimen 
stanzas : 

Brightly  gleam  six  hundred  sabers, 
And  the  brazen  trumpets  ring; 

Steeds  are  gathered,  spurs  are  driven, 

And  the  heavens  widely  riven 

With  a  mad  shout  upward  given, 
Scaring  vultures  on  the  wing. 
427 


James  JSatron  l>ope. 

Onward!     On!  the  chargers  trample; 

Quicker  falls  each  iron  heel! 
And  the  headlong  pace  grows  faster; 
Noble  steed  and  noble  master, 
Rushing  on  to  red  disaster, 

Where  the  heavy  cannons  peal. 

Down  went  many  a  gallant  soldier; 

Down  went  many  a  stout  dragoon; 
Lying  grim  and  stark  and  gory 
On  the  crimson  field  of  glory, 
Leaving  us  a  noble  story 

And  their  white-cliffed  home  a  boon. 

The  poem  has  twenty  such  stan 
zas,  and  would  be  found  in  collec 
tions  for  elocutionary  exercises,  but 
for — well,  what?  "Dreamy  eyes," 
"pensive  lids,"  and  "dark  hair's 
silken  flow"  are  apt  to  make  part  of 
a  young  man's  first  volume  of 
poems.  Hope's  was  no  exception. 
Well,  the  world  will  never  tire  of 
love  and  beauty,  nor  of  the  songs 
that  thrill  with  these,  and  it  will  be 
a  poor  world  when  it  wearies  of  its 
choicest  gifts.  He  watches  Zeno- 
\a  moving  with  the  music : 
428 


t>ope. 


And  thy  face  is  ever  changing 
With  the  changes  of  the  time, 
As  they  say  the  waters  vary 
With  the  changes  of  the  moon. 

Now  thy  eyes  are  downward  looking, 
Now  upraised  in  laughing  light, 

Ever  fitful  in  their  luster 
Like  the  tropic  waves  at  night. 

The  following  has  a  lover's  ex 
travagance,  but  a  poet's  delicacy  : 

Were  I  a  knight,  those  hands  of  hers  — 

Those    little    hands    so    small    and 

white  — 
Alone  should  buckle  on  my  spurs, 

The  golden  spurs  which  proved  me 

knight. 

Those    hands  —  hast    ever    seen    them? 
Nay; 

Then  marvel  not  that  thus  I  sing 
Their  loveliness  in  this  poor  lay. 

They  well  might  wake  a  string 
More  noble  than  this  trembling  now, 

To  tell  how  wondrous  fair  their  hue, 
White  as  Madonna's  stainless  brow, 

Or  lily  wet  with  moonlit  dew; 
And  yet  they  have  a  rosy  sign 

Just  lingering  on  their  dainty  tips 
As  if  she'd  dipped  them  in  red  wine 

And  dried  them  on  her  crimson  lips. 
429      * 


James  Matron  f)ope. 

What  is  more  exquisite  than  the 
last  four  lines  just  given? 

From  one  of  his  poem  orations 
I  select  this  on  the  name  of  Wash 
ington: 

I've  called  his  name  a  statue;  stern 
and  vast, 

It  rests  enthroned  upon  the  mighty 
past; 

Fit  plinth  for  him  whose  image  in  the 
mind 

Looms  up  as  that  of  one  by  God  de 
signed! 

Fit  plinth,  in  sooth!  the  mighty  past 
for  him 

Whose  simple  name  is  glory's  syno 
nym! 

Een  Fancy's  self,  in  her  enchanted  sleep, 

Can  dream  no  future  which  may  cease 
to  keep 

His  name  in  guard,  like  sentinel,  and 
cry 

From  Time's  great  bastions:  "It  shall 
never  die!" 

It  is  hard  to  say  things  upon 

themes  like  the  following  that  have 

not  been  said  before  in  some  form, 

but  he  is  the  true  poet  who  finds  the 

430 


James  Barton  1bope. 

"apt  word"   to  better  say  an  old 
thing.    Such  is  this : 

All  is  quiet  save  the  murmur 
Of  the  tide  upon  the  bar; 

See  each  little  breaker  playing 
With  the  image  of  a  star! 

I  take  two  stanzas  from  the  York- 
town  address : 

Float  out,    O   flag,   and  float  in  every 

clime! 
Float  out,  O  flag,  and  blaze  on  every 

sea! 
Float  out,  O  flag,  and  float  as  long  as 

time 
And  space  themselves  shall  be! 

Float  out,  O  flag,  above  a  smiling  land! 
Float  out,   O  flag,  above  a  peaceful 

sod! 
Float  out,  O  flag,  thy  staff  within  the 

hand 
Beneficent  of  God! 

These  may  not  be  the  best  spec 
imens  that  might  have  been  select 
ed,  but  they  give  some  idea  of  the 
poetry  of  J.  Barron  Hope. 
431 


Benr$  X$nfcen  iflasb. 

THE  loss  to  humanity  can  never 
be  repaired  when  the  inevitable 
stress  of  affairs  leads  the  poet  from 
the  steeps  of  Parnassus  to  the  strug 
gling  marts  of  trade.  Any  one 
fortunate  enough  to  own  a  thin  vol 
ume  of  poems  published  in  1860 
bearing  the  name  at  the  head  of  this 
essay  realizes  the  loss  to  the  South 
which  befell  when  Mr.  Flash  de 
cided  that  "the  South  preferred  po 
tatoes  to  poetry,"  and  went  into 
business. 

Of  his  advent  as  a  poet  I  will 
again  allow  that  ardent  devotee  to 
Southern  writers,  James  Wood  Da 
vidson,  to  speak.  In  "Living  Writ 
ers  of  the  South,"  published  in  1859, 
he  says : 

"Several  years  ago — it  may  be 
ten — in  some  newspaper,  probably 
the  Home  Journal,  of  New  York, 
432 


fflasb. 


I  chanced  upon  this  little  poem, 
called  'Love  and  Wrong,'  under 
the  authority  of  Lynden  Eclair  : 

A  scoffed-at  prayer,  the  flit  of  a  dress, 
The  glance  of  a  frenzied  eye, 

A  sullen  splash,  and  the  moon   shone 

out, 
And  the  stream  went  muttering  by. 

And  never  again  will  I  walk  by  the 
moon, 

Through  the  oaks  and  chestnuts  high; 
For  I  fear  to  see  the  flit  of  a  dress, 

And  the  glance  of  a  frenzied  eye. 

And   some  may  laugh  and  some   may 

weep, 

But  as  for  me,  I  pray; 
For   I   know  that   a  tale   of  love   and 

wrong 
Will  be  told  on  the  judgment  day. 

'  '  I  was  startled  at  the  power  of 
these  three  stanzas  —  at  the  con 
densation,  the  multum  in  p<wvo,  the 
thrilling  tact  of  telling  so  much  in 
so  very  few  words.  It  is  true,  there 
is  too  much  of  the  melodramatic 
and  spasmodic  in  the  fiction  of  this 
433 


jflasb. 


'  Love  and  Wrong/  but  still  there 
is  power.  Whoever  has  read  the 
poem  will  never  forget  it.  I  felt 
that,  whoever  he  was,  Lynden 
Eclair  was  a  true  poet.  The  name 
was  evidently  a  nom  de  plume,  and 
I  awaited  anxiously  the  name  of  the 
author.  The  next  I  saw  of  Lynden 
Eclair  was  in  the  Sunday  Delta,  of 
New  Orleans,  during  1858,  I  be 
lieve  in  a  lyric  called  'Who  Can 
Tell,'  dated  Mobile,  Ala.  I  know  of 
no  man  in  America  who  could  ap 
proach  the  peculiar  verve  of  these 
lyrics,  except  Stoddard,  and  had 
reasons  for  believing  that  it  was  not 
he.  Aldrich  might  have  conceived 
and  even  written  them  ;  he  could 
never  have  left  them  without  some 
evidence  of  polish  and  of  his  patient 
retouching  —  could  never  have  left 
them  in  the  Greek  simplicity  in 
which  they  here  appear.  My  mind 
at  once  turned  to  a  transatlantic 
star,  just  then  rising  into  view,  from 
which  alone,  as  I  conceived,  this  pe- 
434 


culiar  light  could  come.  My  mind 
fixed  upon  Owen  Meredith — Bul- 
wer  fits — as  the  one  living  poet  who 
might  be  the  author  of  the  poem- 
lets,  of  such  unique  spirit  and  vigor, 
of  such  concise,  suggestive,  and  yet 
easy  and  nonchalant  expression." 
Mr.  Davidson  further  says  : 
"Imagine  my  surprise  and  pleas 
ure,  then,  when  a  new  poem  came 
unmistakably  from  the  same  brain, 
and  with  it  the  identity  of  author 
ship,  under  the  true  name  of  Henry 
Lynden  Flash,  and  with  it  came, 
too,  the  information  that  the  poet 
was  not  only  an  American,  but  a 
Southron. 

In  1860  Mr.  Flash  published  his 
poems  in  a  small  volume — just  the 
'time  when  the  first  mutterings  of 
the  cloud  of  war  were  heard,  and  in 
the  thunderstorm  that  has  succeed 
ed,  the  book  has  been  comparative 
ly  forgotten,  as  have  all  things  else 
than  blood,  horrors,  and  death. 
The  volume  contains  sixty-one 
435 


poems,  all  lyrical,  and  is,  I  have  not 
the  least  hesitation  in  saying,  the 
best  first  volume  of  poems  ever  pub 
lished  in  America." 

When  the  war  between  the  States 
broke  out  Mr.  Flash  was  a  young 
man  who  had  made  some  friends  by 
his  pen,  had  made  a  visit  to  Europe, 
which  no  doubt  ministered  to  the 
cultivation  of  his  artistic  taste,  and 
was  the  author,  as  said,  of  a  volume 
of  poems  which  deserved  far  more 
than  ordinary  attention.  Being  an 
ardent  Southerner,  he  entered  the 
army,  making  a  fine  record  as  a 
soldier,  attaining  the  rank  of  cap 
tain.  Later  his  pen  was  more  need 
ed  than  his  sword,  and  he  became 
editor  of  the  Telegraph,  published 
at  Macon,  Ga.  It  was  here  that  he 
wrote  the  three  poems  found  in  the 
collections  of  war  poetry — "Zolli- 
koffer,"  "Jackson,"  and  "Polk."  It 
is  said  that  "Polk"  was  written  in 
five  minutes,  while  the  foreman 
waited  for  "copy."  Mr.  Flash  him- 
436 


Jlasb. 


self  says  that,  so  far  as  he  remem 
bers,  all  of  his  earlier  writings  were 
published  in  forty-eight  hours  after 
they  were  written.  This  shows 
what  a  force  in  literature  he  might 
have  become  by  better  methods  of 
composition  had  he  not  sought  for 
tune  in  other  fields. 

Pains  have  been  taken  to  make 
the  following  brief  sketch  of  Mr. 
Flash  as  accurate  as  possible. 

Henry  Lynden  Flash  was  born 
in  Cincinnati,  Ohio,  July  20,  1835. 
In  1839  ne  moved  to  New  Orleans. 
In  1849  he  went  to  Western  Mil 
itary  Institute  in  Kentucky,  and 
was  graduated  there  in  1852,  at  the 
age  of  seventeen.  He  first  wrote 
and  published  verses  while  at  col 
lege.  When  he  left  college  he  went 
to  Mobile,  Ala.,  in  a  branch  of 
his  father's  commercial  house,  and 
wrote  verses  off  and  on  all  the  time. 
In  1857  he  went  to  Europe  and 
spent  a  year  in  Italy.  While  there 
he  was  engaged  as  a  correspondent 
437 


en  JFlasb. 


of  the  New  Orleans  Delta  and  the 
Montgomery  Mail.  Before  going  to 
Europe  he  was  for  a  few  months  one 
of  the  editors  of  the  Mobile  Reg 
ister.  On  returning  from  Italy  in 
1858,  he  went  into  a  cotton  com 
mission  house  in  Mobile.  In  the 
summer  of  1860  his  volume  of 
poems  was  published  by  Rudd  & 
Carleton,  New  York.  It  was  sold 
out  in  two  or  three  months,  and  an 
other  edition  was  to  have  been  pub 
lished,  but  the  war  prevented.  He 
served  during  the  war  as  a  volun 
teer,  and  was  aid-de-camp  to  Gen.. 
W.  J.  Hardee  and  Gen.  Joe  Wheel 
er,  and  during  the  last  year  of  the 
war  owned  and  edited  the  Macon 
(Ga.)  Telegraph.  In  the  fall  of 
1860  he  had  gone  to  Galveston, 
Tex.,  and  opened  a  wholesale  West 
ern  produce  business.  After  the 
war  in  1865,  ne  returned  to  his 
business  in  Galveston,  but  in  1868 
left  there  and  went  into  the  same 
business  at  his  old  home  in  New 
438 


fflasb. 


Orleans.  In  1870  he  was  married  to 
Miss  Clara  Dolson,  of  New  Or 
leans,  and  lived  in  that  city  until 
1868,  when  he  moved  to  Los  An 
geles,  Cal.,  his  present  home.  He 
wrote  verses  more  or  less  all  this 
time.  Sometimes  he  wrote  two 
the  same  day  ;  sometimes  not  a 
line  in  two  or  three  years.  He  has 
always  been  most  actively  engaged 
in  business,  and  never  gave  any  spe 
cial  time  to  literature.  His  father 
and  mother  were  natives  of  Jamai 
ca,  West  Indies,  and  were  both  ed 
ucated  in  England. 

In  person  he  has  been  described 
-as  follows  :  "Our  poet  is  a  trifle  be 
low  medium  height  —  maybe  five 
feet  nine  —  and  stands  erect.  He  has 
black  hair;  black,  keen,  piercing 
eyes  ;  a  strongly-marked  Roman 
nose  ;  a  prominent  and  forcible 
chin  ;  and  an  expressive  mouth." 
He  has  written  a  number  of  poems 
within  the  last  half-dozen  years  — 
some  equal  to  his  best  work,  but 
439 


fflasb* 


The  maid  I  love  has  violet  eyes, 

And  rose-leaf  lips  of  red, 
She   wears   the   moonshine   round   her 
neck, 

The  sunshine  round  her  head; 
And  she  is  rich  in  every  grace, 

And  poor  in  every  guile, 
And  crowned  kings  might  envy  me 

The  splendor  of  her  smile. 

She  walks  the  earth  with  such  a  grace 

The  lilies  turn  to  look, 
And  waves  rise  up  to  catch  a  glance, 

And  stir  the  quiet  brook; 
Nor  ever  will  they  rest  again, 

But  chatter  as  they  flow, 
And  babble  of  her  crimson  lips, 

And  of  her  breast  of  snow. 

And  e'en  the  leaves  upon  the  trees 
*    Are  whispering  tales  of  her, 
And  tattle  till  they  grow  so  warm 

That,  in  the  general  stir, 
They    twist    them    from    the    mother- 
branch, 

And  through  the  air  they  fly, 
Till,  fainting  with  the  love  they  feel, 

They  flutter  down  and  die. 

And,  what  is  stranger  still  than  all 

The  wonders  of  her  grace, 
Her  mind's  the  only  thing  to  match 

The  glories  of  her  face. 
442 


1benrt>  SLgn&en  Jflaeb, 

O,  she  is  nature's  paragon — 

All  innocent  of  art; 
And  she  has  promised  me  her  hand, 

And  given  me  her  heart. 

And  when  the  spring  again  shall  flush 

Our  glorious  Southern  bowers, 
My  love  will  wear  a  bridal  veil, 

A  wreath  of  orange  flowers; 
And  so  I  care  not  if  the  sun 

Should  founder  in  the  sea, 
For  O!  the  heaven  of  her  love 

Is  light  enough  for  me! 

Two  stanzas  of  "Curst  and  Blest/' 
voicing  the  thought  of  the  opium 
eater,  have  been  cited  as  of  surpass 
ing  beauty. 

For  I  have  a  friend,  a  luminous  friend, 
The  soul  of  the  poppies  rich  and  red, 

That  walks  the  pathway  of  my  heart 
Like  an  angel  among  the  dead. 

And  down,  far  down  to  the  bottom  lie 

goes, 

Till  he  comes  to  the  hope  that  is  bur 
ied  there, 

Waves  his  magical  hands,  and  lo! 
A  blessing  upstarts  from  a  great  de 
spair. 

443 


fflasb* 


Then  why  should  I   die,  with   such  a 

friend 

To  work  his  miracle  when  I  will  — 
To  speak  to  me  like  Christ  to  the  waves, 
And  quiet  my  heart  with  his  "Peace, 
be  still?" 

No!     Twine  sweet  flowers  around  my 

brow, 
And  give  me  the  wondrous  drug  to 

drink 

That  makes  it  a  melody  only  to  live, 
And  a  perfect  poem  to  think. 

Like  Poe,  he  sometimes  portrays 
scenes  that  are  "out  of  space,  out 
of  time."  Of  this  complexion  is 
"Lifting  the  Veil,"  a  poem  too 
long  to  be  given  entire,  but  a  few 
stanzas  will  suffice  to  show  what  is 
meant. 

I  am  lying  in  my  shroud, 

Dead. 

So  they  say; 
And  they  pray 

Round  my  bed. 

And  they  weep  and  wail  aloud, 
For  they  little  think  that  I, 
All  stiffened  as  I  lie, 
444 


Jflasb. 


Have  a  power  and  a  vision 

That  I  never  knew  before. 
Though  my  limbs  are  cold  and  rigid, 

And  my  heart  will  beat  no  more, 
Yet  my  spirit  sees  a  demon 

That  it  never  saw  before. 
Do  you  see  that  woman  sitting 
Near  my  bed, 

Watching  through  the  night 
By  the  dead? 

The  taper's  misty  light 
Shows  a  forehead  broad  and  fair 
Partly  shadowed  by  the  darkness 
Of  her  cloudy  mass  of  hair. 
She  looks  pure,  and  sweet,  and  holy, 
As  the  moon  up  in  the  sky, 
But  her  heart  is  cold  as  marble, 
And  her  looks  are  all  a  lie; 
And  this  woman  that  I  worshiped 
Is  an  animated  lie. 

I  died  but  yesternight! 
But  my  spirit  in  its  flight 
Has  seen  the  varied  wonders 
Of  the  sky  and  of  the  air. 
It  has  been  among  the  stars, 
In  Venus  and  in  Mars, 
And  has  seen  the  angels  fair 
That  are  singing  in  their  light; 
But  the  woman  that  I  cherished, 
By  whose  treachery  I  perished, 
445 


Denrg  %£ttDen  nftasb. 

With  the  fairest  of  their  numbers 

Could  compare. 
O!  'tis  well  the  dead  are  palsied; 

Else  my  heart, 
Inflated  with  the  flood 
Of  my  injured  body's  blood, 

Would  break  apart. 
For  she  twined  her  arms  around  me, 
And  she  pressed  her  lips  to  mine, 
And  she  wished  that  I  should  pledge  her 

In  a  golden  cup  of  wine; 
And  she  placed  a  deadly  poison 
In  this  very  cup  of  wine. 

Space  only  remains  to  give  one 
of  Mr.  Flash's  poems  of  recent 
years: 

MEMORIES  OF  BLUE  AND  GRAY. 
(This  was  read  at  the  second  anniver 
sary  of  the  Confederate  Veterans'  As 
sociation   at   Los   Angeles,    September 
25,  1897-) 
We  are  gathered  here,  a  feeble  few 

Of  those  who  wore  the  gray; 
The  larger  and  the  better  part 

Have  mingled  with  the  clay. 
Yet  not  so  lost  but  now  and  then 

Through  dimming  mist  we  see 
The  deadly  calm  of  Stonewall's  face, 

The  lion-front  of  Lee. 
446 


jflasb. 


The  men  who  followed  where  they  led 

Are  scattered  far  and  wide  — 
In  every  valley  of  the  South, 

On  every  mountain  side. 
The  earth  is  hallowed  by  the  blood 

Of  those  who,  in  the  van, 
Gave  up  their  lives  for  what  they  deemed 

The  sacred  rights  of  man. 

And  you  who  faced  the  boys  in  blue 

(When  like  a  storm  they  rose), 
And  played   with   life   and  laughed  at 

death 

Among  such  stalwart  foes, 
Need  never  cast  your  eyes  to  earth  ; 
Though  fortune  frown,  your  names  are 

down 
Upon  the  roll  of  fame. 

The  flag  you  followed  in  the  fight 

Will  never  float  again. 
Thank  God,  it  sunk  to  endless  rest. 

Without  a  blot  or  stain. 
And  in  its  place  "old  glory"  rose 

With  all  his  stars  restored; 
And  smiling  Peace  with  rapture  raised 

A  paean  to  the  Lord. 

We  love  both  flags;  let  smiles  and  tears 

Together  hold  their  sway. 
One  won  our  hearts  in  days  agone; 

One  owns  our  love  to-day. 
447 


t>enn2  Tiynben 

We    claim    them    both,    with    all    their 
wealth 

Of  honor  and  of  fame; 
One  lives  triumphant  in  the  sun, 

And  one,  a  hallowed  name. 

A   few    short   years,    and    "Yank"    and 

"Reb," 

Beneath  their  native  sod, 
Will  wait  until  the  judgment  day 

The  calling  voice  of  God. 
The     Great    Commander's    smile    will 

beam 

On  that  enrollment  day 
Alike  on  him  who  wore  the  blue 
And  him  who  wore  the  gray. 
448 


©tber  Writers  of  IDerse. 


IN  the  limited  space  at  the  au 
thor's  command  little  more  than 
mention  can  be  made  of  several 
writers  who  published  one  or  more 
volumes  of  poems  which  had  more 
than  local  celebrity.  Mention  has 
been  made  elsewhere  of  Augustus 
Julian  Requier,  a  lawyer  of  Mobile, 
Ala.,  who  was  born  in  Charleston, 
S.  C.,  in  1825,  and  died  in  New 
York  in  1887.  His  "Ashes  of  Glo 
ry,"  was  written  in  response  to  Fa 
ther  Ryan's  "Conquered  Banner." 
Judgpe  Requier  wrote  several  vol 
umes  in  both  dramatic  and  lyric 
verse.  Outside  of  his  war  poems, 
"Ode  to  Shakespeare"  is  perhaps 
the  most  spirited  as  well  as  the  best 
known. 

Alabama  borrowed  another  poet- 
lawyer  from  South  Carolina  in  the 
person  of  Judge  Alexander  B. 
449 


©tbec  Writers  of  IDcrse. 

Meek,  who  was  born  at  Columbia, 
S.  C.,  in  1814 ;  practiced  law  in  Tus- 
caloosa,  Ala. ;  and  died  in  1865,  hav 
ing  in  the  meantime  published  sev 
eral  works,  poetical  and  historical. 
His  published  poetical  works  were 
"Red  Eagle"  and  "Songs  and 
Poems  of  the  South."  Judge  Meek 
left  a  history  of  his  adopted  State 
unfinished,  but  his  "Romantic  Pas 
sages  in  Southwestern  History"  is 
of  more  than  passing  value.  The 
anthologies  contain  war  poems 
showing  his  devotion  to  the  South. 
"Balaklava,"  on  the  same  theme  as 
Tennyson's  "Charge  of  the  Light 
Brigade,"  is  perhaps  his  most  spir 
ited  poem.  Judge  Meek  was  ora 
tor,  editor,  historian,  and  author  of 
the  public  school  system  of  Ala 
bama. 

No  account  of  Southern  poets 
would  be  complete  without  the 
name  of  Gen.  Albert  Pike,  who, 
though  born  in  Boston,  resided  in 
Arkansas  from  early  manhood, 
450 


(Ptbec  "GQlrtters  ot  IDerse. 

where  he  wrote  "Hymns  to  the 
Gods,"  poems  adjudged  worthy  to 
be  reprinted  in  Blackwood's  Maga 
zine.  He  served  in  the  Mexican 
war,  and  was  brigadier  general  in 
the  Confederate  army.  At  one  time 
he  was  editor  of  the  Memphis  Ap 
peal.  Gen.  Pike  was  a  lawyer  by 
profession,  but  in  his  later  years 
went  to  Washington  and  devoted 
himself  to  literature  and  freemason 
ry.  The  mocking  bird  has  been  a 
favorite  with  the  poets.  Judge 
Meek,  Harry  Flash,  Rodman 
Drake,  Richard  Henry  Wilde, 
Longfellow,  and  many  others  have 
given  that  poet-bird  more  than  a 
passing  line,  but  hardly  any  one 
has  hymned  the  songster  so  elo 
quently  as  Pike.  "Every  Year"  is 
without  doubt  his  best  poem  : 

The  spring  has  less  of  brightness 

Every  year; 
And  the  snow  a  ghastlier  whiteness, 

Every  year; 

Nor  do  summer  flowers  quicken, 
451 


©tbcr  "Qdriters  of  Derse. 


Nor  the  autumn  fruitage  thicken, 
As  they  once  did,  for  they  sicken, 
Every  year. 

It  is  growing  darker,  colder, 

Every  year; 
As  the  heart  and  soul  grow  older, 

Every  year; 

I  care  not  now  for  dancing, 
Or  for  eyes  with  passion  glancing, 
Love  is  less  and  less  entrancing, 

Every  year. 

Of  the  loves  and  sorrows  blended, 

Every  year; 
Of  the  charms  of  friendship  ended, 

Every  year; 

Of  the  ties  that  still  might  bind  me, 
Until  time  to  death  resign  me 
My  infirmities  remind  me, 

Every  year. 

Ah!  how  sad  to  look  before  us, 

Every  year; 
While  the  cloud  grows  darker  o'er  us, 

Every  year; 

When  we  see  the  blossoms  faded, 
That  to  bloom  we  might  have  aided, 
And  immortal  garlands  braided, 

Every  year. 
452 


®tbet  THUriters  ot  IDerse* 

To  the  past  go  more  dead  faces, 

Every  year; 
As  the  loved  leave  vacant  places, 

Every  year; 

Everywhere  the  sad  eyes  meet  us, 
In  the  evening's  dusk  they  greet  us, 
And  to  come  to  them  entreat  us, 

Every  year. 

"You  are  growing  old,"  they  tell  us, 

Every  year ; 
"You  are  more  alone,"  they  tell  us, 

Every  year ; 

"You  can  win  no  new  affection ; 
You  have  only  recollection, 
Deeper  sorrow  and  dejection, 

Every  year." 

Yes,  the  shores  of  life  are  shifting, 

Every  year; 
And  we  are  seaward  drifting, 

Every  year; 

Old  places,  changing,  fret  us, 
The  living  more  forget  us, 
There  are  fewer  to  regret  us, 

Every  year. 

But  the  truer  life  draws  nigher, 

Every  year; 
And  its  morning  star  climbs  higher 

Every  year; 
453 


©tber  TMitfters  of  Derse. 

Earth's  hold  on  us  grows  slighter, 
And  the  heavy  burden  lighter, 
And  the  dawn  immortal  brighter, 
Every  year. 

Abr'am  Joseph  Ryan,  the  poet- 
priest,  has  already  found  a  place 
in  these  pages.  But  he  wrote  beau 
tiful  poetry  other  than  that  pertain 
ing  to  the  war.  Father  Ryan  was 
born  at  Norfolk,  Va.,  about  1834; 
and,  after  living  in  various  Southern 
cities,  died  at  Louisville,  Ky.,  in 
1886.  His  poems  in  a  single  vol 
ume  are  easy  of  access,  hence  the 
writer  does  not  give  selections. 

At  an  early  date  another  gifted 
with  the  vision  of  poesy  passed 
away  at  Louisville.  George  Deni- 
son  Prentice  was  not  only  a  poet, 
but  through  the  Louisville  Journal 
(now  the  Courier- Journal),  of  which 
he  was  the  founder,  he  did  more 
to  foster  literature  in  the  South  than 
was  accomplished  by  any  other 
newspaper  editor.  The  roll  call 
from  Kentucky  in  his  time  would 
454 


Writers  ot  IDerse, 

reveal  such  names  among  the 
verse  writers  as  Theodore  O'Hara, 
John  E.  Hatcher,  Will  Wallace 
Harney,  Mrs.  Warfield,  Mrs.  Rosa 
Vertner  Jeffreys  Johnson,  Mrs. 
Amelia  B.  Welby,  Mrs.  Piatt,  and 
many  others.  Mrs.  Welby's  "Rain 
bow"  is  one  of  the  most  beautiful 
poems  produced  in  the  West. 

Coming  down  to  the  border 
State,  Mrs.  Anna  Chambers  Ketch- 
urn  and  Mrs.  L.  Virginia  French,  of 
Tennessee,  belong  to  the  same 
group.  Mrs.  Ketchum,  formerly  of 
Memphis,  is  the  author  of  two  vol 
umes  of  poems  and  several  novels. 

Mrs.  L.  Virginia  French  (nee 
Smith)  was  born  in  Virginia,  edu 
cated  in  Pennsylvania,  and  married 
in  Tennessee,  living  at  McMinn- 
ville.  She  died  in  1881.  "Wind 
Whispers,"  a  volume  of  poems  pub 
lished  in  1856,  represents  her  best 
work  before  the  war.  Perhaps  "The 
Palmetto  and  the  Pine"  is  her  best 
known  and  strongest  poem,  yet 
455 


Qtber  'CUriteis  of  l?ctrc. 

"Buried  To-Day"  is  full  of  pathos. 
"The  Beautiful  South"  is  fairly  typ 
ical  of  her  best  verse. 

"Knowest  thou  the  land"  where  the 
summer  is  queen, 

And  her  regal  profusion  enriches  the 
scene 

Till  earth  is  enrobed  in  her  emerald 
dyes, 

And  royal  emblazonry  glows  on  the 
skies; 

Where  the  signet  of  loveliness  ever  has 
shone, 

And  the  spirit  of  beauty  established 
her  throne? 

Hast  heard  of  a  clime  where  the  care- 
haunted  bosom 

Is  soothed  by  the  spells  of  the  balm- 
breathing  blossom, 

Where  the  free  spirit  mirrors  the  height 
of  the  mountain 

The  depth  of  the  forest,  the  sheen  of 
the  fountain, 

And  loses  its  shadows  of  grief  and  of 
gloom 

In  tropical  valleys  all  riant  with  bloom? 

Hast  sought,  over  sunny  savannas,  the 
wood, 

456 


©tbcc  Writers  of  IDerse. 

"With  its  arches  Titanic  and  still  soli 
tude 

Where  zephyrs  are  curling  the  emerald 
billows 

Of  slow-swaying  foliage,  and  under  the 
willows 

The  fawn  nestles  down  mid  the  feathery 
fern, 

And  the  wild  lily  holds  up  her  delicate 
urn? 

Hast  joined  in  the  melody  sweeping 
along 

With  a  waving  of  plumage,  a  gushing  of 
song; 

Where  the  bobolink  warbles,  the  ori 
ole  sings, 

And  the  mocking  bird's  madrigal  glee 
fully  rings; 

Where  the  stately  magnolia  the  wood 
land  perfumes, 

And  the  parroquet  flutters  his  rich-tint 
ed  plumes? 

Hast  looked  on  the  hillside  the  south 
wind  has  kissed, 

When  its  bold  breath  has  lifted  its  veil 
ing  of  mist; 

Or  soft-shadowed  vistas  lit  up  by  the 
gleams 

Of  glittering  sunshine  and  far-flashing 
streams; 

12  457 


©tber  TJdrtters  of  IDerse. 


Where  the  sweet  waters  melt  on  the 
coralline  shore, 

Like  the  murmurs  of  love  from  the  lips 
we  adore? 

Dost  dream  of  an  Eden  whose  bright- 
flowing  waters 

Find  rivals  as  graceful  and  pure  in  its 
daughters; 

Of  a  lip's  living  coral,  a  cheek  where  the 
rose 

Sheds  its   soft,   dimpled  freshness  and 
dewy  repose; 

Of    an    eye    oriental,    where    witchery 
sleeps 

Enshrined  in  its  kindling  and  passion 
ate  deeps? 

Canst  tell  of  her  sons,  ever  chainless  and 
free 

As  their  proud  rivers  seeking  the  blue- 
rolling  sea, 

By  frost  never  fettered,  whose  spirits  of 
fire 

Flash  forth  the  quick  impulse  of  love  or 
of  ire; 

As   noble,   as  knightly,    as  brave  as   in 
years 

Long  past  were  their  fathers,  the  bold 
Cavaliers? 

O,  swift  as  a  bird  to  its  bowery  nest, 

My  young  spirit  flies  from  a  world  of 
unrest 

458 


©tber  TSUriters  of  Derse* 


To  the  sheltering  hearts  all  aglow,  like 
the  prime 

Of  summer  abroad  in  our  glorious 
clime; 

And  with  pride  we'll  proclaim  it  wher 
ever  we  roam: 

"I  too  am  a  Southron — the  South  is 
my  home." 

Other  volumes,  prose  as  well  as 
verse,  came  from  the  pen  of  this 
gifted  woman  at  various  times, 
while  her  newspaper  and  magazine 
sketches  have  been  innumerable. 

Names  crowd  apace,  but  no  men 
tion  can  be  made  of  hundreds  who 
sought  with  more  or  less  success  to 
mount  the  winged  steed.  Judge 
Henry  R.  Jackson,  of  Georgia, 
must  at  least  be  called  by  name. 
He  has  idealized  "The  Red  Hills  of 
Georgia,"  whose  seams  and  gashes 
made  by  poor  husbandry  Lanier 
so  deplored  at  a  later  date.  His  vol 
ume,  "Tallulah  and  Other  Poems," 
was  published  in  1850.  More  that 
is  local  attaches  to  his  poems  than 
459 


©tbec  TDQWterg  ot  IDecee. 

to  those  of  his  contemporaries. 
"My  Wife  and  Child,"  written  dur 
ing  the  Mexican  war,  went  the 
rounds  again  during  the  civil  war, 
being  attributed  by  ardent  admirers 
to  "Stonewall  Jackson."  Lawyer, 
legislator,  judge,  editor,  United 
States  Minister  to  Austria,  colonel 
in  the  Mexican  war,  general  in  the 
late  war,  nevertheless  some  of  Judge 
Jackson's  poems  are  touching  and 
tender. 

Who  has  not  heard  that  plaintive, 
sweet,  and  deeply  religious  song, 
"Passing  under  the  Rod?"  It  was 
born  of  sickness,  repeated  bereave 
ment,  and  resignation,  and  was  writ 
ten  by  a  daughter  of  South  Caro 
lina.  Mary  Stanly  Bunce  Palmer 
was  born  at  Beaufort,  S.  C.,  in  1810. 
She  was  mainly  educated  at  the 
schools  of  the  Misses  Ramsays,  in 
Charleston,  attending,  however, 
schools  in  the  North  at  a  later  pe 
riod.  In  1835  she  was  married  to 
Mr.  Dana,  and  went  first  to  New 
460 


©tber  THttriters  of  Dcrse. 

York  and  later  to  the  West,  where 
an  epidemic  slew  both  her  husband 
and  her  only  child  in  the  short  space 
of  two  weeks.  Her  sorrow  voiced 
itself  in  song,  and  the  "Southern 
Harp,"  published  in  1841,  was  the 
result.  The  "Northern  Harp"  fol 
lowed.  In  1848  she  became  Mrs. 
Shindler,  having  in  the  meantime 
published  other  volumes.  The  fol 
lowing  verses  will  sound  strangely 
familiar  to  older  readers  : 

Shed  not  a  tear  o'er  your  friend's  ear 
ly  bier, 

When  I  am  gone,  when  I  am  gone; 
Smile  if  the  slow-tolling  bell  you  should 

hear, 

When  I  am  gone,  I  am  gone. 
Weep  not  for  me  when  you  stand  round 

my  grave, 

Think  who  has  died  his  beloved  to  save. 
Think  of  the  crown  all  the  ransomed 

shall  have, 
When  I  am  gone,  I  am  gone. 

Plant  ye  a  tree,  which  may  wave  over 

me, 

When  I  am  gone,  when  I  am  gone; 
461 


Other  Winters  of  Derse. 


Sing  ye  a  song  if  my  grave  you  should 

see, 
When  I  am  gone,  I  am  gone. 

Come  at  the  close  of  a  bright  summer's 
day, 

Come  when  the  sun  sheds  its  last  linger 
ing  ray, 

Come,  and  rejoice  that  I  thus  passed 

away, 
When  I  am  gone,  I  am  gone. 

To  return  for  a  brief  moment  to 
Kentucky,  perhaps  it  may  be  justly 
said  that  three  of  the  high-water 
mark  poems  of  the  South  were  pro 
duced  on  the  soil  of  that  State. 
Even  a  casual  reader  would  place 
in  the  list  O'Hara's  "Bivouac  of  the 
Dead"  and  Prentice's  "Closing 
Year,"  but  there  are  others  who 
think  no  stronger  short  poem  has 
been  produced  in  the  Southland 
than  Will  Wallace  Harney's 
"Stab:" 

On  the  road,  the  lonely  road, 
Under  the  cold  white  moon, 

Under  the  ragged  trees  he  strode; 

He  whistled  and  shifted  his  weary  load, 
Whistled  a  foolish  tune. 
462 


©tbcr  "Cdriters  of  IDersc* 

There  was  a  step  timed  with  his  own, 

A  figure  that  stooped  and  bowed; 
A  cold,  white  blade  that  gleamed  and 

shone, 
Like  a  splinter  of  daylight  downward 

thrown — 
And  the  moon  went  behind  a  cloud. 

But  the  moon  came  out  so  broad  and 

good, 

The  barn  fowl  woke  and  crowed; 
Then  roughed  his  feathers  in  drowsy 

mood, 
And  the  brown  owl  called  to  his  mate  in 

the  wood 

That  a  dead  man  lay  on  the  road. 
463 


Soutbern  Ibumoitets. 


PHILOSOPHERS  have  not 
agreed  upon  a  definition  for 
that  intangible  something 
called  humor.  It  evades  all  de 
scription.  The  burdens  of  life  are 
lightened  by  its  presence.  Unlike 
wit,  it  never  carries  a  sting,  but 
comes  like  a  sunburst  of  song, 
arousing  lagging  courage  to  re 
newed  effort,  and  bringing  the  gen 
ial  warmth  of  hope  and  gladness 
to  minds  benumbed  by  the  chill  in 
fluences  of  hardship  and  disappoint 
ment.  Hazlitt  says :  "Man  is  the 
only  animal  that  laughs  and  weeps, 
for  he  is  the  only  animal  that  is 
struck  with  the  difference  between 
what  things  are  and  what  they 
ought  to  be.  .  .  .  To  explain  the 
nature  of  laughter  and  tears  is  to 
account  for  the  condition  of  human 
life,  for  it  is  in  a  manner  compound- 
465 


Soutbern  t>umorist0* 


ed  of  these  two.  It  is  a  tragedy  or 
a  comedy — sad  or  merry,  as  it  hap 
pens." 

I  shall  conclude  this  imperfect 
and  desultory  sketch  of  wit  and  hu 
mor  with  Barrow's  celebrated  de 
scription  of  the  same  subject.  He 
says :  "But  first  it  may  be  demand 
ed  what  the  thing  we  speak  of  is, 
or  what  this  facetiousness  doth  im 
port  ;  to  which  question  I  might  re 
ply,  as  Democrilus  did  to  him  that 
asked  the  definition  of  a  man,  '  Tis 
that  which  we  all  see  and  know;' 
and  one  better  apprehends  what  is 
meant  by  acquaintance  than  I  can 
inform  him  by  description.  It  is,  in 
deed,  a  thing  so  versatile  and  multi 
form,  appearing  in  so  many  shapes, 
so  many  postures,  so  many  garbs, 
so  variously  apprehended  by  sever 
al  eyes  and  judgments,  that  it  seem- 
eth  no  less  hard  to  settle  a  clear  and 
certain  notice  thereof  than  to  make 
a  portrait  of  Proteus  or  to  define 
the  figure  of  fleeting  air." 
466 


Soutbcrn 


C.  C.  Everett  thus  sets  forth  the 
source  of  humor:  "Among  those 
great  elements  of  human  nature 
which  have  shown  themselves  to  be 
rooted  in  the  deep,  unconscious  life 
of  man  must  be  placed  the  source 
of  the  ludicrous.  Plenty,  unless 
gorged  to  dyspepsia — and  even 
then  it  becomes  ludicrous — is  the 
very  father  of  fun.  Whether  plen 
ty  has  the  ribless  side  or  the  thin 
anatomy,  laughter  lives  in  its  com 
pany.  Does  not  a  man  'well  to  do' 
feel  good?  Is  he  not  more  genial? 
Can  he  riot  laugh  more  heartily,  in 
vent  merrier  thoughts?  And  will 
he  not,  if  unconstrained  by  a  ty 
rannic  government,  let  out  more  of 
the  native  peculiarities  of  his  dis 
position?  There  is  but  one  excep 
tion  to  the  rule,  and  that  is  the  Irish. 
Rich  or  poor,  full  or  pinched,  they 
must  have  their  jollity." 

S.  S.  Cox,  in  "Why  We  Laugh," 
thus  puts  the  case :  "But  we  have 
in  America  specific  objects  of  hu- 
467 


Soutbern  foumorists* 


mor — the  scheming  Yankee,  the 
big,  bragging  brave  Kentuckian, 
and  the  first-family  Virginian.  We 
have  lawyers  on  the  circuit,  as  in 
the  "Georgia  Scenes ;"  loafers  on  a 
spree,  as  in  Neal's  "Charcoal 
Sketches;"  politicians  in  caucus; 
legislators  in  session ;  travelers  on 
cars  and  steamers — indeed,  the  his 
tory  of  every  American's  life  is  hu 
morous,  moving  as  he  does  from 
place  to  place,  and  even  when  he 
sits  down  as  restless  as  the  stick 
which  a  traveler  saw  out  West  that 
was  so  crooked  it  would  not  be 
still." 

In  his  "Oddities  of  Southern 
Life/  after  speaking  of  English, 
Scotch,  and  French  wit  and  humor, 
Col.  Watterson  gives  us  the  follow 
ing:  "In  the  United  States,  partic 
ularly  in  the  Southern  States,  such 
quiddities  are  early  heard;  the  wit 
is  coarser,  whilst,  as  a  rule,  the  hu 
mor  turns  upon  character  and  in 
cident.  We  body  forth  a  person- 
468 


Southern  Ibumorists* 


age  out  of  the  odds  and  ends  of 
comic  thought  and  memory,  the 
heel-taps  of  current  observance ;  we 
clothe  this  image  appropriately,  and 
then  we  put  it  through  a  series  of 
amusing  adventures.  Thus  it  is 
that  our  humor  is  anecdotal,  pro 
ducing  such  figures  as  Sut  Luvin- 
good ;  Bill  Arp ;  Maj.  Joseph  Jones, 
of  Pinesville,  Ga. ;  the  Rev.  Heze- 
kiah  Bradley,  who  discoursed  upon 
the  'Harp  of  a  Thousand  Strings ;' 
and  last,  but  not  least,.  Capt.  Simon 
Suggs,  of  the  Tallapoosa  volun 
teers.  They  flourished  years  ago, 
in  the  good  old  time  of  muster  days 
and  quarter  racing,  before  the  camp 
meeting  and  the  barbecue  had  lost 
their  power  and  their  charm ;  when 
men  led  simple,  homely  lives,  doing 
their  love-making  and  their  law- 
making  as  they  did  their  fighting 
and  their  plowing,  in  a  straight  fur 
row." 

The  late  Dr.  Baskervill  follows 
in    the    same    vein:    "The    middle 
469 


Southern  I>umotist04 

Georgians  are  a  simple,  healthy,  ho 
mogeneous  folk,  resembling  for  the 
most  part  other  Southerners  of 
like  rank  and  calling  in  their  man 
ners,  customs,  and  general  way  of 
living.  But  they  have  developed 
a  certain  manly,  vigorous,  fearless 
independence  of  thought  and  action, 
and  an  ever-increasing  propensity 
to  take  a  humorous  view  of  life.  In 
their  earlier  writings  it  is  a  homely 
wit,  in  which  broad  humor  and  loud 
laughter  predominate,  but  tears  are 
lurking  in  the  corners  of  the  eyes, 
and  genuine  sentiment  nestles  in  the 
heart.  In  more  recent  times  the 
horizon  has  widened,  and  there  has 
been  a  gain  in  both  breadth  of  view 
and  depth  of  insight.  Genius  and  art 
have  combined  to  make  this  classic 
soil." 

470 


Hugustue  B.  Xongstreet. 

JUDGE  LONGSTREET  easily  stands 
first  among  those  who  may  be  char 
acterized  as  the  humorists  of  the 
ante  bellum  days.  Like  most  oth 
ers  of  that  period,  literature  with 
him  was  a  pastime  and  not  a  pur 
suit.  In  fact,  he  never  took  him 
self  seriously  in  this  field,  and  in 
his  later  years  forbore  to  take  any 
interest  in  what  he  had  done  as  be 
ing  too  frivolous  to  comport  with 
his  more  serious  views  as  to  the 
true  purposes  of  life.  A  lawyer, 
judge,  Methodist  minister,  and  col 
lege  President  in  turn,  yet  his 
"Georgia  Scenes"  will  outlive  all 
else  which  he  planned  and  exe 
cuted.  These  descriptions  may  be 
coarse  as  portraying  rude  times, 
but  nevertheless  they  are  accepted 
as  smacking  of  the  soil  and  giving 
471 


Southern  ttumorista* 


a  true  picture  of  a  society  enliv 
ened  by  rare  and  original  charac 
ters,  such  as  are  seldom  found  in 
older  communities,  where  society 
has  become  crystallized. 

Augustus  Baldwin  Longstreet 
was  born  in  Edgefield  District,  S. 
C,  September  22,  1790.  He  was 
carried  to  Georgia  quite  early,  and 
became  as  one  of  the  stalwart  sons 
of  his  adopted  commonwealth. 
The  "old  field  master"  seems  not 
to  have  understood  the  boy,  nor 
did  the  youth  whom  the  master 
characterized  as  a  "dunce"  acquire 
much  except  a  knowledge  of  some 
such  scenes  and  characters  as  he 
portrays  in  after  years.  With 
brighter  auspices  the  boy  became 
happier,  having,  as  he  says,  an  am 
bition  "to  outrun,  outjump,  out- 
shout,  throw  down  any  man  in  the 
district." 

In  his  delightful  life  sketch  of 
Judge  Longstreet  Bishop  Fitzger 
ald  says :  "This  ingenuous  confes- 
472 


Bugustus  3Bal5\vln  Xongstreet* 

sion  throws  a  flash  of  illumination 
over  those  times,  about  the  begin 
ning  of  the  present  century,  when 
martial  fame  was  the  passport  to 
popular  favor,  and  virile  strength 
and  pluck  made  a  hero  of  a  country 
bully  or  a  crack  shot  in  a  squirrel 
hunt  or  the  winner  in  a  wrestling 
match." 

After  two  years  thus  spent  in 
South  Carolina,  to  which  his  father 
had  carried  the  lad  temporarily,  he 
returned  to  the  hated  school,  the 
Richmond  Academy,  with  the  same 
unfortunate  result.  A  little  later, 
first  chance,  then  choice,  threw  him 
into  the  companionship  of  a  young 
man  who  read  and  appreciated  good 
books.  By  slow  degrees  at  first, 
their  tastes  were  finally  assimilated, 
and  young  Longstreet  became  im 
bued  with  a  love  for  good  books. 
What  a  world  of  delights  were  thus 
thrown  open  to  him  in  ever-widen 
ing  vistas  !  What  possibilities  lie 
out  before  the  boy  who  loves  to 
1  :  473 


Southern  "fcumorfsts* 

read!  After  two  years  at  Rich 
mond  Academy  Longstreet  was 
sent  to  the  celebrated  school  of  Dr. 
Moses  Waddell,  of  South  Carolina. 
The  things  which  had  been  distaste 
ful  became  rather  his  delight. 
Three  years  in  this  school  fitted  him 
for  Yale,  where  he  entered  the  Jun 
ior  class  in  1811,  graduating  in  two 
years.  His  own  testimony  is  that 
he  was  happy  and  loved  all  the  pro 
fessors,  which  speaks  volumes  for 
his  deportment  and  study.  From 
Yale  he  entered  law  school  in 
Litchfield,  Conn.,  where,  among 
other  influences,  he  sat  under  the 
ministry  of  Lyman  Beecher.  In 
due  course  of  time  he  returned  to 
Georgia  and  was  admitted  to  the 
bar,  and,  like  most  lawyers  of  that 
day,  took  a  fling  at  politics  as  well. 
He  began  that  course  of  observa 
tion,  experience,  and  travel  around 
judicial  circuits  and  general  ac 
quaintance  with  those  racy  charac 
ters  which  laid  the  foundation  for 
474 


Bugustus  3BaU>win  Xongstreet. 

"Georgia  Scenes."  His  fame  for 
oratory  so'on  filled  the  State,  at  a 
time  when  Georgia  had  many  sons 
gifted  in  that  glowing  field.  Every 
gifted  man  of  that  day  of  musters 
must  have  a  military  title — must 
start  as  captain  and  reach  the  honor 
of  colonel,  at  least.  Longstreet  be 
came  captain,  but  was  never  a  mili 
tia  colonel.  The  higher  title  of  gen 
eral  was  to  be  won  by  a  kinsman 
on  many  a  bloody  field.  Judge 
Longstreet  was  a  zealous,  success 
ful  attorney,  and  when  placed  upon 
the  judicial  bench  in  1822  brought 
to  his  new  duties  learning,  industry, 
and  honesty,  and  was  an  honor  to 
the  ermine.  Later  he  returned  of 
choice  to  the  practice  of  law,  and 
to  its  duties  added  that  of  editor 
of  the  Augusta  Sentinel,  of  which 
he  became  the  founder.  During 
1838  he  became  a  Methodist  minis 
ter,  and  was  stationed  at  Augusta, 
remaining  at  his  post  during  a  ter 
rible  visitation  of  yellow  fever.  The 
475 


Southern  1bumorist04 

following  year  he  was  elected  Pres 
ident  of  Emory  College,  at  which 
place  he  remained  nine  years.  For 
the  following  six  years  he  was  Pres 
ident  of  the  University  of  Mississip 
pi,  which  position  he  resigned  to 
devote  himself  to  agricultural  pur 
suits.  In  1857  he  was  elected  Pres 
ident  of  South  Carolina  College,  lo 
cated  at  Columbia,  where  he  re 
mained  until  just  before  the  civil 
war,  when  he  returned  to  the  pres 
idency  of  the  University  of  Missis 
sippi.  After  the  war  he  returned  to 
Oxford,  Ga.,  and  devoted  himself 
to  books,  largely  to  a  study  of  the 
Bible,  with  a  view  to  the  further 
elucidation  of  that  Book.  He  died 
July  10,  1870,  his  faithful  wife  hav 
ing  passed  away  a  little  earlier. 

As  a  member  of  the  General  Con 
ference  of  1844,  Judge  Longstreet 
took  a  decided  part  in  the  debates 
which  produced  the  division.  He 
was  always  a  believer  in  State 
rights,  and  a  zealous  defender  of 
476 


Augustus  3Bal&w(n  Xongstreet. 

his  own  section.  It  was  said  he 
could  never  be  scared  up  without 
a  speech,  and  was  equally  ready  to 
respond  to  a  serenade,  preach  a  fu 
neral  sermon,  or  deliver  a  com 
mencement  address.  The  Methodist 
Quarterly,  the  Southern  Literary 
Messenger,  the  Southern  Field  and 
Fireside,  as  well  as  many  other  pe 
riodicals,  were  enriched  by  his  con 
tributions.  Among  such  contribu 
tions  were  "Letters  to  Clergymen 
of  the  Northern  Methodist 
Church,"  "Letters  from  Georgia  to 
Massachusetts,"  and  articles  upon 
many  other  topics.  In  1864  he  pub 
lished  a  novel,  "Master  William 
Mitten."  As  intimated  at  the  out 
set,  by  far  his  best  work  is  a  se 
ries  of  newspaper  articles  called 
"Georgia  Scenes,"  "Characters," 
"Incidents  in  the  First  Half  Centu 
ry  of  the  Republic  by  a  Native 
Georgian."  The  humor  is  broad, 
but  the  fun  is  irresistible.  "Geor 
gia  Scenes"  will  doubtless  remain 
477 


Soutbern  •fcumottsts. 


at  the  head  of  the  list  of  works  of 
that  kind  produced  in  the  South  be 
fore  the  war.  Hardly  need  the  word 
"South"  be  used,  since  this  is  prac 
tically  the  pioneer  work  in  the  di 
rection  taken  later  by  such  as  Bret 
Hart,  Mark  Twain,  and  many  oth 
ers  who  have  given  America  a  rep 
utation  for  the  humorous  repre 
sentation  of  characters  incident  to 
certain  localities  and  certain  stages 
of  civilization.  In  fact  Mr.  Clemens 
himself,  though  credited  to -the  West 
and  North,  is  a  Southerner  in  every 
true  sense  of  the  word — in  birth, 
inspiration,  and  a  certain  apt  sense 
of  the  ludicrous  found  in  the  south. 
The  Southerner  in  his  days  of  lei 
sure  found  time  to  take  in  and,  on 
occasion,  reproduce  all  the  comical 
ities  of  the  situation.  Not  only 
that,  but  Mr.  Clemens  has  done 
some  of  his  best  work  when  he  came 
south  for  his  material. 

Mr.  Longstreet  began  what  an 
other  "native   Georgian"  took  up 
478 


Bugu0tus  3BaIDvvm  Xongstreet. 

with,  if  possible,  a  gentler  and  more 
loving  touch,  and  put  forth  with  a 
higher  refinement  of  art — of  course 
reference  is  made  to  Richard  Mal 
colm  Johnston.  "Georgia  Scenes" 
was  first  issued  in  book  form  in 
1840,  and  again  in  1867.  In  the 
meantime  the  distinguished  preach 
er  and  dignified  college  president 
had  adjudged  this  work  of  his  ear 
lier  years  unworthy,  and  not  only 
refused  to  revise  but  had  endeav 
ored  to  procure  and  destroy  the 
copies  already  extant.  Notwith 
standing,  an  edition  has  been  issued 
in  recent  years,  while  every  extend 
ed  treatise  on  American  literature 
embraces  one  or  more  selections 
from  the  work  thus  discredited  by 
its  author. 

The  barbecue  is  said  to  be  a 
Southern  institution  ;  the  same  was 
originally  true  of  the  camp  meet 
ing.  "Stump  speaking"  by  rival 
candidates,  or  the  representatives 
of  these  candidates,  has  flourished 
479 


Soutbern  "fcumoriste* 


in  the  South,  perhaps,  more  than  in 
any  other  part  of  the  world.  The 
"muster"  was  the  occasion  of  im 
mense  crowds  and  much  drinking, 
"fist  and  skull"  fighting,  "horse 
swapping,"  and  public  speaking. 
Likewise  the  circuit  and  county 
courts  drew  great  crowds  in  which 
similar  pastimes  were  rife,  while  the 
widespread  custom  of  "swopping 
work"  by  neighbors  gave  rise  to 
"corn-shuckings,"  "log-rollings," 
"house -raisings,"  "wheat- thresh 
ings,"  and  similar  workings  with 
some  of  which  was  associated  the 
quilting  party,  with  its  bevy  of 
girls.  At  all  of  these  athletics 
were  much  in  evidence,  and  coarse 
badinage  with  riotous  jokes  abound 
ing  in  strokes  of  real  humor,  were 
the  order  of  the  day  or  night.  This 
free  and  easy  rollicking  life  of  the 
earlier  days,  with  its  grotesque  char 
acters,  broad  hilarity,  and  freedom 
from  restraint  and  care  is  repro 
duced  in  these  sketches  by  Judge 
•  480 


Augustus  JBalDwin  Xongstreet, 

Longstreet  as  nowhere  else.  The 
work  is  more  than  historical,  since 
the  people  live  again  as  it  were  be 
fore  our  eyes.  We  do  not  read  of, 
but  see  the  gander-pulling,  the 
fight,  the  "horse  swap,"  or  the 
dance.  Perhaps  Johnston  could 
never  have  so  faithfully  portrayed 
the  "Georgia  Crackers"  had  he  not 
taken  up  his  abode  in  Baltimore, 
and  hence  been  impressed  by  the 
contrasts.  Judge  Longstreet  spent 
part  of  his  boyhood  in  the  districts 
of  South  Carolina,  where  society 
was  more  conventional.  Likewise 
his  stay  in  the  East  brought  to  him 
more  forcibly  the  fact  that  in  the 
newer  settlements  of  Georgia  he 
was  witness  to  facts  and  conditions 
highly  unique  and  destined  to  prove 
transient.  The  desire  to  write  no 
philosophy  can  explain,  but,  having 
that  desire,  he  became  par  excel 
lence  the  historian  of  a  period  which 
would  otherwise  to  a  large  extent 
have  been  forgotten.  Of  the  work 
481 


Soutbern  Tbumorlstg* 


he  writes  in  the  preface  to  the  first 
edition :  "They  consist  of  nothing 
more  than  fanciful  combinations  of 
real  incidents  and  characters ;  and 
throwing  into  those  scenes,  which 
would  be  otherwise  dull  and  insipid, 
some  personal  incident  or  adven 
ture  of  my  own,  real  or  imaginary, 
as  it  would  best  suit  my  purpose; 
usually  real,  but  happening  at  dif 
ferent  times  and  under  different  cir 
cumstances  from  those  in  which 
they  are  here  represented.  I  have 
not  always,  however,  taken  this  lib 
erty.  Some  of  the  scenes  are  as  lit 
erally  true  as  the  frailties  of  mem 
ory  would  allow  them  to  be."  The 
table  of  contents  enumerates  eight 
een  of  these  sketches,  but  the  "Lin 
coln  County  Rehearsal,"  so  often 
copied  into  other  books,  introduces 
the  work  without  being  included  in 
the  index.  This  tells  how  the  au 
thor,  in  passing  through  a  lonely 
district,  heard  sounds  as  if  of  dead 
ly  conflict,  and  turned  aside  only  to 
482 


Su0ustus  3BalJ>wfn  Xongstreet, 

find  a  plowboy  impersonating  all 
the  characters  of  a  courthouse  fight. 
Following  this  is  "The  Dance,"  a 
truly  characteristic  affair;  then 
comes  ''The  Horse  Swap/'  in  which 
each  jockey  gets  the  best  of  the  oth 
er,  to  the  great  amusement  of  the 
bystanders — one  horse  having  a 
sore  of  unusual  dimensions  hidden 
by  the  saddle,  and  the  other  being 
both  blind  and,  as  the  boy  express 
es  it,  "deef." 

Judge  Longstreet's  sketches  are 
designated  as  humorous,  but  the 
humor  grows  rather  out  of  the  sit 
uation  and  characters  than  of  an  ob 
vious  purpose  on  the  author's  part 
to  portray  these  in  a  humorous 
manner,  yet  the  effect  is  such  that 
no  doubt  Ned  Brace  voices  the 
Judge's  feelings  in  later  years  when, 
after  devoting  his  life  to  making 
"game"  of  folks,  he  utters  his  con 
victions  :  "Humor  has  been  my  be 
setting  sin  from  my  youth  up.  It 
has  sunk  me  far  below  the  station 
483 


Soutbern  Ibumorteto. 


to  which  my  native  gifts  entitled 
me.  It  has  robbed  me  of  the  re 
spect  of  all  my  acquaintances,  and, 
what  is  much  more  to  be  regretted, 
the  esteem  of  some  of  my  best  and 
most  indulgent  friends.  All  this  I 
have  long  known;  and  I  have  a 
thousand  times  deplored,  and  as 
often  resolved  to  conquer,  my  self- 
destroying  propensity.  But  so 
deeply  is  it  wrought  into  my  very 
nature,  so  completely  and  indissol- 
ubly  interwoven  is  it  with  every 
fiber  and  filament  of  my  being,  that 
I  have  found  it  impossible  for  me 
to  subdue  it."  In  sooth,  Ned  Brace, 
"a  native  Georgian,"  is  a  rara  avis. 
"The  Fights"  between  the  bullies  of 
the  upper  and  the  lower  battalions 
was  a  necessary  part  of  every  well- 
regulated  muster.  In  this  the  busy 
body,  Ransy  Sniffle,  is  broadly  but 
truly  sketched.  The  old  field  school 
would  not  have  been  complete  with 
out  "The  Turnout,"  in  which  the 
teacher  was  to  be  made  to  "treat." 
484 


Bugustus  SSal&win  Xongetreet. 

"The  Charming  Creature  as  a  Wife" 
is  truly  pathetic  as  a  history  of 
mismating,  while  the  "Gander-Pul 
ling,"  "The  Ball,"  "The  Debating 
Society,"  "The  Military  Drill,"  "The 
Turf,"  "The  Fox  Hunt,"  "The 
Shooting  Match,"  and  other  narra 
tions  are  all  that  their  names  im 
ply.  Every  one  interested  in  the 
true  relation  of  backwoods  scenes 
will  read  the  entire  series  of  sketch 
es.  However,  many  of  the  best  are 
found  in  "Judge  Longstreet :  A  Life 
Sketch,"  by  Bishop  Fitzgerald. 
485 


3osepb  (5. 


No  man  will  get  all  out  of  life 
there  is  for  him  until  he  has  read 
"Flush  Times  of  Alabama  and  Mis 
sissippi."  As  if  to  facilitate  such  in 
tent,  the  book  has  recently  been  re- 
published.  The  evident  intention 
of  the  author  was  to  manufacture 
fun,  but  he  faithfully  portrays  a 
passing  phase  of  life  as  well.  In 
traveling  around  the  judicial  cir 
cuits  and  staying  together  at  vil 
lage  taverns  and  even  country 
houses  lawyers  learned  to  tell  an 
ecdotes  and  narrate  racy  incidents 
with  rare  skill  —  in  fact,  such  verita 
ble  narratives  were  part  of  an  at 
torney's  or  politician's  stock  in 
trade.  Moreover,  what  was  raciest 
became  widely  diffused,  and  men 
were  put  on  their  mettle  to  outdo 
each  other  in  "telling  yarns,"  many 
of  which  were  enlargements  upon 
486 


.  3BaU>wfn. 


actual  occurrences.  Little  thought 
of  turning  such  material  into  litera 
ture  entered  the  minds  of  most  of 
those  who  between  lawsuits  regaled 
their  fellows  with  these  veracious 
narratives.  An  exception  to  this 
was  found  in  the  case  of  Judge  Jo 
seph  G.  Baldwin,  who  was  born  in 
Southern  Alabama  in  181  1,  and  died 
at  San  Francisco,  Cal.,  1864.  This 
is  the  account  given  by  Appleton, 
though  Miss  Manly  credits  his 
birthplace  to  Virginia,  which  is 
probably  correct.  He  was  eminent 
as  a  jurist  and  author  while  in  Ala 
bama,  but  became  a  judge  of  the 
Supreme  Court  of  California  in 
1857,  and  held  the  office  until  1863, 
when  he  became  Chief  Justice  of 
California,  which  position  he  held 
for  one  year. 

His  published  works  were  "Flush 
Times  in  Alabama  and  Mississip 
pi,"  1853;  "Party  Leaders,"  1854; 
and  a  volume  of  "Humorous  Legal 
Sketches,"  published  at  San  Fran- 
487 


Soutbern  "fcumorists* 


Cisco  in  1879.  His  "Party  Leaders" 
are  papers  on  Jefferson,  Hamilton, 
Jackson,  Clay,  and  John  Randolph. 
The  "Flush  Times"  in  part  was  first 
contributed  to  the  Southern  Liter 
ary  Messenger. 

In  those  flush  times,  when  credit 
was  princely,  and  debts  were  paid 
by  making  new  promises,  the  reign 
of  such  characters  as  Ovid  Bolus, 
Esq.  was  supreme.  Baldwin's  de 
scription  deserves  reproduction : 

"And  what  history  of  that  halcyon 
period  ranging  from  the  year  of 
grace  1835  to  1877 — that  golden 
era  when  shinplasters  were  the  sole 
currency,  when  bank  bills  were  'as 
thick  as  autumn  leaves  in  Vallam- 
brosa,'  and  credit  was  a  franchise — 
what  history  of  those  times  would 
be  complete  that  left  out  the  name 
of  Ovid  Bolus?  As  well  write  the 
biography  of  Prince  Hal  and  for 
bear  all  mention  of  Falstaff.  In 
law  phrase  the  thing  would  be  a 
'deed  without  a  name,'  and  void, 
488 


.  3BaU>wfn. 


a  most  unpardonable  casus  omis- 
sus.  I  cannot  trace,  for  reasons  the 
sequel  suggests,  the  early  history, 
much  less  the  birthplace,  pedigree, 
and  juvenile  associations  of  this 
worthy.  Whence  he  or  his  for 
bears  got  his  name  or  how,  I  don't 
know  ;  but  for  the  fact  that  it  is  to 
be  inferred  he  got  it  in  infancy,  I 
s'hould  have  thought  he  borrowed 
it;  he  borrowed  everything  else  he 
ever  had,  such  things  as  he  got  un 
der  the  credit  system  only  excepted. 
In  deference,  however,  to  the  ax 
iom  that  there  is  some  exception  to 
all  general  rules,  I  am  willing  to  be 
lieve  that  he  got  this  much  honest 
ly,  by  bona  fide  gift  or  inheritance, 
and  without  false  pretense.  I  have 
had  a  hard  time  of  it  in  endeavor 
ing  to  assign  to  Bolus  his  leading 
vice.  I  have  given  up  the  task  in 
despair  ;  but  I  'have  essayed  to  des 
ignate  that  one  which  gave  him,  in 
the  end,  most  celebrity.  I  am  aware 
that  it  is  invidious  to  make  com- 
14  489 


Southern  t)umori0t04 


parisons,  and  to  give  preeminence 
to  one  over  other  rival  qualities  and 
gifts,  where  all  have  high  claims  to 
distinction ;  but  then  the  stern  jus 
tice  of  criticism  in  this  case  requires 
a  discrimination  which,  to  be  intelli 
gible  and  definite,  must  be  relative 
and  comparative.  I  therefore  take 
the  responsibility  of  saying,  after 
due  reflection,  that  in  my  opinion 
Bolus's  reputation  stood  higher  for 
lying  than  for  anything  else,  and 
in  thus  assigning  preeminence  to 
•this  poetic  property  I  do  it  with 
out  any  desire  to  derogate  from  oth 
er  brilliant  characteristics  belong 
ing  to  the  same  general  category 
which  have  drawn  the  wondering 
notice  of  the  world. 

"Some  men  are  liars  from  inter 
est  ;  not  because  they  have  no  regard 
for  truth,  but  because  they  have  less 
regard  for  it  than  for  gain.  Some 
are  liars  from  vanity,  because  they 
would  rather  be  well  thought  of  by 
others  than  have  reason  for  think- 
490 


Josepb  <5.  3BaK>win. 

ing  well  of  themselves.  Some  are 
liars  from  a  sort  of  necessity  which 
overbears,  by  the  weight  of  tempta 
tion,  the  sense  of  virtue.  Some  are 
enticed  away  by  the  allurements  of 
pleasure  or  seduced  by  evil  exam 
ple  and  education.  Bolus  was  none 
of  these :  he  belong  to  a  higher  de 
partment  of  the  fine  arts,  and  to  a 
higher  class  of  professors  of  this 
sort  of  belles-lettres.  Bolus  was  a 
natural  liar,  just  as  some  horses  are 
natural  pacers  and  some  dogs  nat 
ural  setters.  What  he  did  in  that 
walk  was  from  the  irresistible 
promptings  of  instinct  and  a  disin 
terested  love  of  art.  His  genius  and 
his  performances  were  free  from  the 
vulgar  alloy  of  interest  or  tempta 
tion.  Accordingly,  he  did  not  la 
bor  a  lie :  he  lied  with  a  relish ;  he 
lied  with  a  coming  appetite,  grow 
ing  with  what  it  fed  on  ;  he  lied  from 
the  delight  of  invention  and  the 
charm  of  fictitious  narrative.  It  is 
true  he  applied  his  art  to  the  prac- 
491 


Soutbern  tmmorfsta* 

tical  purposes  of  life,  but  in  so  far 
did  he  glory  the  more  in  it,  just  as 
an  ingenious  machinist  rejoices  that 
his  invention,  while  it  has  honored 
science,  has  also  supplied  a  com 
mon  want.  Bolus's  lying  came 
from  his  greatness  of  soul  and  his 
comprehensiveness  of  mind.  His 
genius  for  lying  was  encycloped 
ical  :  it  was  what  German  criticism 
calls  many-sided.  It  embraced  all 
subjects  without  distinction  or  par 
tiality.  It  was  equally  good  upon 
all,  'from  grave  to  gay,  from  lively 
to  severe/  The  truth  was  too  small 
for  him.  Fact  was  too  dry  and 
commonplace  for  the  fervor  of  his 
genius.  Besides,  great  was  his 
memory — for  he  even  remembered 
the  outlines  of  his  chief  lies — his 
invention  was  still  larger.  He  had 
a  great  contempt  for  history  and 
historians.  He  thought  them  tame 
and  timid  cobblers,  mere  tinkers  on 
other  people's  wares — simple  par 
rots  and  magpies  of  other  men's 
492 


Josepb  <3.  33alJ)win. 

sayings  or  doings ;  borrowers  of  and 
acknowledged  debtors  for  others' 
chattels,  got  without  skill ;  they  had 
no  separate  estate  in  their  ideas. 
They  were  bailies  of  goods,  which 
they  did  not  pretend  to  hold  by  ad 
verse  title ;  buriers  of  talents  in  nap 
kins,  making  no  usury ;  barren  and 
unprofitable  nonproducers  in  the 
intellectual  vineyard  —  nail  con 
sumers  fruges.  He  adopted  a  fact 
occasionally  to  start  with ;  but,  like 
a  Sheffield  razor  and  the  crude  ore, 
the  workmanship,  polish,  and  value 
were  all  his  own.  A  Thibet  shawl 
could  as  well  be  credited  to  the  in 
sensate  goat  that  grew  the  wool  as 
the  author  of  a  fact  Bolus  honored 
with  his  artistical  skill  could  claim 
to  be  the  inventor  of  the  story.  His 
experiments  upon  credulity,  like 
charity,  began  at  home.  He  had 
long  torn  down  the  partition  wall 
between  his  imagination  and  his 
memory.  He  had  long  ceased  to 
distinguish  between  the  impressions 
493 


Southern  Ibumoristgi 


made  upon  his  mind  by  what  came 
from  it  and  what  came  to  it.  All 
ideas  were  facts  to  him.  .  .  . 
Bolus's  manner  was,  like  every  truly 
great  man's,  his  own.  It  was  ex 
cellent.  He  did  not  come  blushing 
up  to  a  lie,  as  some  otherwise  very 
passable  liars  do,  as  if  he  were  mak 
ing  a  mean  compromise  between 
his  guilty  passion  or  morbid  van 
ity,  and  a  struggling  conscience. 
Bolus  had  long  since  settled  all  dis 
putes  with  his  conscience.  He  and 
it  were  on  very  good  terms — at 
least,  if  there  was  no  affection  be 
tween  the  couple,  there  was  no  fuss 
in  the  family,  or  if  there  were  any 
scenes  or  angry  passages  they  were 
reserved  for  strict  privacy,  and  nev 
er  got  out.  My  own  opinion  is  that 
he  was  as  destitute  of  the  article  as 
an  ostrich.  Thus  he  came  to  his 
work  bravely,  cheerfully,  and  com 
posedly.  The  delights  of  composi 
tion,  invention,  and  narration  did 
not  fluster  his  style  or  agitate  his 
494 


Sosepb  G. 


delivery.  He  knew  how,  in  the  tu 
mult  of  passion,  to  assume  the  'tem 
perance  to  give  it  smoothness.'  A 
lie  never  ran  away  with  him,  as  it 
is  apt  to  do  with  young  performers. 
He  could  always  manage  and  guide 
it  ;  and  to  have  seen  him  fairly 
mounted  would  have  given  you 
some  idea  of  the  polished  elegance 
of  D'Orsay  and  the  superb  menage 
of  Murat." 

Judge  Baldwin's  descriptions  are 
often  much  to  the  point,  as  witness  : 

"The  Major  was  a  gentleman  of 
about  fifty-five,  of  ruddy  complex 
ion,  which  he  had  got  out  of  a  jug 
he  kept  under  his  bed  of  cold 
nights,  without  acknowledging  his 
obligations  for  the  loan  ;  about  five 
feet  eight  inches  high  and  nearly 
that  much  broad.  Nature  or  acci 
dent  had  shortened  one  leg,  so  that 
he  limped  when  he  walked.  His 
eyes  stood  out  and  were  streaked 
like  a  boy's  white  alley,  and  he  wore 
a  ruffled  shirt  —  the  same,  perhaps, 
495 


Soutbcrn  Ibumonste* 

which  he  had  worn  on  training  days 
in  Georgia,  but  which  did  not 
match  very  well  with  a  yellow  lin- 
sey  vest,  and  a  pair  of  copperas- 
colored  jeans  pantaloons  he  had 
squeezed  in  the  form  of  a  crescent 
over  his  protuberant  paunch.  On 
the  whole,  he  was  a  pretty  good  live 
parody  on  an  enormous  goggle- 
eyed  sun  perch." 

Since  he  was  a  Virginian  he  could 
appreciate  the  feelings  of  a  son  of 
the  Old  Dominion  in  exile : 

"The  disposition  to  be  proud  and 
vain  of  one's  country,  and  to  boast 
of  it,  is  a  natural  feeling,  indulged 
or  not  in  respect  to  the  pride,  van 
ity,  and  boasting,  according  to  the 
character  of  the  native ;  but  with  a 
Virginian  it  is  a  passion.  It  inheres 
in  him  even  as  the  flavor  of  a  York 
River  oyster  in  that  bivalve,  and  no 
distance  of  deportation,  and  no 
trimmings  of  a  gracious  prosperity, 
and  no  pickling  in  the  sharp  acids 
of  adversity,  can  destroy  it.  It  is  a 
496 


6.  JBalDwin. 


part  of  the  Virginia  character  —  just 
as  the  flavor  is  a  distinctive  part 
of  the  oyster  —  'which  cannot,  save 
by  annihilating,  die.'  It  is  no  use 
talking  about  it  —  the  thing  may  be 
right  or  wrong  :  like  FalstafFs  vic 
tims  at  Gadshill,  it  is  past  praying 
for  ;  it  is  a  sort  of  cocoa  grass  that 
has  got  into  the  soil,  and  has  so  mat 
ted  over  it  and  so  fibered  through 
it  as  to  have  become  a  part  of  it  — 
at  least,  there  is  no  telling  which  is 
the  grass  and  which  is  the  soil,  and 
certainly  it  is  useless  labor  to  try 
to  root  it  out.  You  may  destroy 
the  soil,  but  you  cannot  root  out  the 
grass.  Patriotism  with  a  Virginian 
is  a  noun  personal.  It  is  the  Vir 
ginian  himself  and  something  over. 
He  loves  Virginia  per  se  and  propter 
se;  he  loves  her  for  herself  and  for 
himself  —  because  she  is  Virginia, 
and  everything  else  beside.  He 
loves  to  talk  about  her  :  out  of  the 
abundance  of  the  heart  the  mouth 
speaketh.  It  makes  no  odds  where 
497 


Southern  Ibumortets* 


he  goes,  he  carries  Virginia  with 
him — not  in  the  entirety  always; 
but  the  little  spot  he  came  from  is 
Virginia,  as  Swedenborg  says  the 
smallest  part  of  the  brain  is  an 
abridgment  of  all  of  it.  'Caelum  non 
animum  mutant  qui  trans  mare  cur- 
runt'  was  made  for  a  Virginian.  He 
never  gets  acclimated  elsewhere; 
he  never  loses  citizenship  to  the  old 
home.  The  right  of  expatriation  is 
a  pure  abstraction  to  him.  He  may 
breathe  in  Alabama,  but  he  lives  in 
Virginia.  His  treasure  is  there,  and 
his  heart  also.  If  he  looks  at  the 
delta  of  the  Mississippi,  it  reminds 
him  of  James  River  'low  grounds ;' 
if  he  sees  the  vast  prairies  of  Tex 
as,  it  is  a  memorial  of  the  meadows 
of  the  valley.  Richmond  is  the  cen 
ter  of  attraction,  the  depot  of  all 
that  is  grand,  great,  good,  and  glo 
rious.  'It  is  the  Kentucky  of  a 
place/  which  the  preacher  described 
heaven  to  be  to  the  Kentucky  con 
gregation." 

498 


Joeepb  0.  3BaIJ>\v{n. 

Of  the  state  of  the  country,  as  a 
resolution  in  Congress  would  say, 
the  following  is  Baldwin's  graphic 
account : 

"The  new  country  seemed  to  be 
a  reservoir,  and  every  road  leading 
to  it  a  vagrant  stream  of  enterprise 
and  adventure.  Money,  or  what 
passed  for  money,  was  the  only 
cheap  thing  to  be  had.  Every 
cross-road  and  every  avocation  pre 
sented  an  opening  through  which  a 
fortune  was  seen  by  the  adventurer 
in  near  perspective.  Credit  was  a 
thing  of  course.  To  refuse  it,  if  the 
thing  was  ever  done,  were  an  in 
sult  for  which  a  Bowie  knife  was 
not  a  too  summary  or  exemplary 
means  of  redress.  The  State 
banks  were  issuing  their  bills  by 
the  sheet,  like  a  patent  steam  print 
ing  press  its  issues,  and  no  other 
showing  was  asked  of  the  applicant 
for  the  loan  than  an  authentication 
of  his  great  distress  for  money.  Fi 
nance,  even  in  its  most  exdusive 
499 


Soutbern  tmmortets* 

quarter,  had  thus  already  got,  in 
this  wonderful  revolution,  to  work 
upon  the  principles  of  the  charity 
hospital.  If  an  overseer  grew  tired 
of  supervising  a  plantation  and  felt 
a  call  to  the  mercantile  life,  even  if 
he  omitted  the  compendious  meth 
od  of  buying  out  a  merchant  whole 
sale,  stock,  house,  and  good  will, 
and  laying  down  at  once  his  bull 
whip  for  the  yardstick,  all  he  had  to 
do  was  to  go  on  to  New  York  and 
present  himself  in  Pearl  Street  with 
a  letter  avouching  his  citizenship 
and  a  clean  shirt,  and  he  was  regu 
larly  given  a  through  ticket  to 
speedy  bankruptcy.  Under  this 
stimulating  process  prices  rose  like 
smoke.  Lots  in  obscure  villages 
were  held  at  city  prices ;  lands 
bought  at  the  minimum  cost  of 
government  were  sold  at  from  thir 
ty  to  forty  dollars  per  acre,  and 
considered  dirt  cheap  at  that.  In 
short,  the  country  had  got  to  be  a 
full  antetype  of  California,  in  all  ex- 
500 


cept  the  gold.  Society  was  wholly 
unorganized ;  there  was  no  restrain 
ing  public  opinion;  the  law  was 
well-nigh  powerless,  and  religion 
scarcely  was  heard  of  except  as  fur 
nishing  the  oaths  and  technics  of 
profanity.  The  world  saw  a  fair  ex 
periment  of  what  it  would  have  been 
if  the  fiat  had  never  been  pro 
nounced  which  decreed  subsistence 
as  the  price  of  labor.  Money,  got 
without  work,  by  those  unaccus 
tomed  to  it  turned  the  heads  of  its 
possessors,  and  they  spent  it  with 
a  recklessness  like  that  with  which 
they  gained  it.  The  pursuits  of  in 
dustry  neglected,  riot  and  coarse 
debauchery  filled  up  the  vacant 
hours." 

Simon  Suggs  figures  with  both 
Judge  Baldwin  and  Mr.  Hooper, 
but  it  is  the  son  in  the  case  of  Judge 
Baldwin.  Suggs,  Jr.,  was  a  lawyer, 
and  we  get  a  glimpse  of  his  meth 
ods: 

"The  fault  of  lawyers  in  prepar- 
501 


Southern  tmmorteta* 

ing  their  cases  was  too  generally  a 
dilatoriness  of  movement  which 
sometimes  deferred  until  it  was  too 
late  the  creating  of  the  proper  im 
pression  upon  the  minds  of  the  jury. 
This  was  not  the  fault  of  Col. 
Suggs.  He  always  took  time  by 
the  forelock.  Instead  of  waiting  to 
create  prejudices  in  the  minds  of 
the  jury  until  they  were  in  the  box, 
or  deferring  until  then  the  arts  of 
persuasion,  he  waited  upon  them 
before  they  were  empaneled,  and 
he  always  succeeded  better  at  that 
time,  as  they  had  not  then  received 
an  improper  bias  from  the  testi 
mony.  In  a  case  of  any  importance, 
he  always  managed  to  have  his 
friends  in  the  court  room,  so  that 
when  any  of  the  jurors  were  chal 
lenged  he  might  have  their  places 
filled  by  good  men  and  true;  and, 
although  this  increased  his  expenses 
considerably  by  a  large  annual  bill 
at  the  grocery,  he  never  regretted 
any  expense  either  of  time,  labor, 
502 


Josepb  <5. 


or  money  necessary  to  success  in 
his  business.  Such  was  his  zeal  for 
his  clients." 

As  to  how  Col.  Suggs  handled  a 
case,  we  see  by  noting  a  certain  in 
stance  of  his  skill  : 

"The  most  difficult  case  Col. 
Suggs  ever  had  to  manage  was  to 
extricate  a  client  from  jail  after 
sentence  of  death  had  been  passed 
upon  him.  But  difficulties,  so  far 
from  discouraging  him,  only  had 
the  effect  of  stimulating  his  ener 
gies.  He  procured  the  aid  of  a 
young  physician  in  the  premises, 
the  prisoner  was  suddenly  taken 
ill,  and  the  physician  pronounced 
the  disease  smallpox.  The  wife  of 
the  prisoner,  with  true  womanly 
devotion,  attended  on  him.  The 
prisoner  after  a  few  days  was  re 
ported  dead,  and  the  doctor  gave 
out  that  it  would  be  dangerous  to 
approach  the  corpse.  A  coffin  was 
brought  into  the  jail,  and  the  wife 
was  put  into  it  by  the  physician, 
503 


Soutbern  f>umoriatd« 

she  being  enveloped  in  her  hus 
band's  clothes.  The  coffin  was  put 
in  a  cart  and  driven  off,  the  hus 
band,  habited  in  the  woman's  ap 
parel,  following  after,  mourning 
piteously  until,  getting  out  of  the 
village,  he  disappeared  in  the  thick 
et,  where  he  found  a  horse  pre 
pared  for  him.  The  wife  obstinate 
ly  refused  to  be  buried  in  the  hus 
band's  place  when  she  got  to  the 
grave,  but  the  mistake  was  discov 
ered  too  late  for  the  recapture  of 
the  prisoner." 

504 


3obn0on  3one0  Iboopcr. 

IN  "Oddities  in  Southern  Life 
and  Character,"  Col.  Watterson 
writes : 

"Mr.  Hooper  was  a  most  genial 
and  entertaining  person,  and  the 
central  figure  of  a  brilliant  coterie 
of  writers  and  speakers.  Of  these, 
S.  S.  Prentiss  and  George  D.  Pren 
tice  were  the  most  conspicuous, 
and  they  always  regarded  him  and 
spoke  of  him  as  their  peer.  He  was 
not,  in  public  life,  so  aggressive  as 
they,  and  therefore  he  failed  to  leave 
so  deep  a  personal  impress  upon 
his  time.  But  he  had  both  sense 
and  wit,  and  was  very  effective  in 
the  party  campaigns  of  the  period. 
His  'History  of  the  Life  and  Ad 
ventures  of  Capt.  Simon  Suggs,  of 
the  Tallapoosa  Volunteers/  may 
be — and,  indeed,  it  is — but  a  char 
coal  sketch.  Yet  in  its  way  it  is  a 
15  505 


Southern  Dumorfst0« 


masterpiece.  No  one  who  is  at  all 
familiar  with  the  provincial  life  of 
the  South  can  fail  to  recognize  the 
'points'  of  this  sharp  and  vulgar, 
sunny  and  venal  swashbuckler. 
.  .  .  It  has  often  been  stated 
that  Simon  was  taken  from  a  real 
personage  by  the  name  of  Bird,  and 
the  story  goes  that  this  individual 
did  on  a  certain  occasion  call  Mr. 
Hooper  to  account  for  making  too 
free  with  his  lineaments  and  prac 
tices.  It  may  be  so ;  but  the  like 
lihood  is  that  the  author  in  this 
instance  followed  the  example  of 
other  writers  of  fiction,  and  drew 
his  hero  from  many  scraps  and  odd 
ends  of  individual  character  to  be 
encountered  at  the  time  in  the 
county  towns  and  upon  the  rural 
highways  of  the  South.  At  all 
events,  Simon  has  survived  the 
ephemeral  creations  of  contempo 
rary  humor,  and  is  as  fresh  and 
lively  to-day  as  he  was  five  and  thir 
ty  years  ago." 

506 


Jobnson  Jones  Tbooper. 

Mr.  Hooper  was  born  in  North 
Carolina  in  1815,  and  grew  up  in 
that  State.  When  a  young  man  he 
moved  to  Alabama  for  the  purpose 
of  practicing  law.  Notice  how  often 
it  has  been  the  fact  that  those  in  the 
South  who  attempted  feats  of  lit 
erature  were  also  disciples  of  Black- 
stone.  In  1849  Mr.  Hooper  was 
elected  Solicitor  of  the  Ninth  Cir 
cuit  of  Alabama,  but  at  the  end  of 
four  years  was  defeated  for  the  same 
office,  when  he  went  to  Montgom 
ery  and  established  the  Mail,  which 
soon  became  the  leading  Whig 
journal  of  the  State.  The  Mail, 
however,  supported  Breckinridge 
in  1860,  together  with  ultra-South 
ern  views.  When  the  Provisional 
Congress  for  the  Southern  States 
met  in  Montgomery,  in  February, 
1861,  Mr.  Hooper  was  elected  Sec 
retary  of  that  body,  and  continued 
to  hold  the  office  until  the  organi 
zation  of  the  two  houses  of  Con 
gress  at  Richmond,  after  the  Con- 
507 


Southern  f>umorf8t04 


federate  government  was  formed 
under  the  Constitution,  when  he  was 
defeated  for  Secretary  of  the  Senate. 
He  never  returned  to  Alabama,  but 
died  at  Richmond,  in  1863,  in  the 
prime  of  life.  The  following  is 
taken  from  Garrett's  "Public  Men 
in  Alabama :" 

"The  character  of  Mr.  Hooper 
was  peculiarly  marked.  He  first 
edited  the  Whig,  or  some  paper  of 
like  politics,  in  East  Alabama.  His 
articles  giving  the  experience  of  a 
census  taker  in  1840,  when  the  old 
women  flourished  their  broomsticks 
on  being  interrogated  in  regard  to 
their  poultry,  dairies,  and  'garden 
truck'  were  so  humorous  and  nat 
ural  that  they  were  copied  into  near 
ly  all  the  papers  of  the  South,  and 
afforded  general  amusement.  Then 
followed  'Simon  Suggs,'  which  was 
a  delineation  of  a  character,  bad 
enough,  no  doubt,  in  the  original, 
but  highly  embellished  and  aggra 
vated  in  the  romance,  with  scenes, 
508 


Jobnson  3one0  Iboopet. 

occurrences,  sentiments,  and  other 
details  of  a  cunning,  unprincipled 
man,  whose  art,  in  the  perpetration 
of  fraud,  was  greatly  assisted  by  the 
cant  and  hypocrisy  of  a  pretended 
piety  and  Church  membership. 
This  work  was  published  by  Messrs. 
D.  Appleton  &  Co.,  of  New  York, 
and  the  volume  had  a  very  exten 
sive  circulation.  Thousands  and 
tens  of  thousands  of  readers  have 
laughed  over  it  and  the  grotesque 
situations  and  characters  intro 
duced  :  but  probably  not  one  of 
them  all  has  had  his  reverence  for 
virtue  increased  by  the  perusal." 

While  Mr.  Hooper  gained  celeb 
rity  as  a  humorist,  he  lost  some 
thing  of  a  higher  value  in  public 
estimation.  His  own  authority  will 
be  here  given  for  the  effect : 

In  December,  1856,  a  Southern 
commercial  convention  was  held  in 
Savannah,  to  which  Mr.  Hooper 
and  other  gentlemen  from  Alabama 
were  delegates.  His  arrival  was 
509 


Soutbern  fmmortets* 

announced  in  the  city  papers  in 
terms  quite  complimentary,  as  the 
author  of  "Simon  Suggs,"  that  in 
imitable  production  so  popular 
throughout  the  country.  When  the 
convention  met  in  the  Athenaeum, 
and  while  the  mayor  was  in  the 
chair  waiting  for  the  committee  to 
report  officers  for  permanent  or 
ganization,  Judge  John  A.  Jones, 
of  Georgia,  himself  a  wag  and  hu 
morist,  formally  moved,  in  the  pres 
ence  of  the  six  or  eight  hundred 
delegates,  that  "Simon  Suggs"  be 
called  upon  to  give  an  account  of 
himself  for  the  last  two  years.  The 
mayor,  with  great  politeness,  put 
the  question,  and,  on  its  being  car 
ried  in  the  affirmative  by  a  unan 
imous  vote,  he  requested  "Mr. 
Suggs,"  if  present,  to  comply  with 
the  expressed  desire  of  the  conven 
tion.  There  sat  Mr.  Hooper  in  the 
pit,  wrapped  in  a  green  blanket 
coat,  near  Albert  Pike,  of  Arkansas, 
as  if  overwhelmed  by  the  pressure. 
510 


Jobnson  Jones  Ibooper. 

From  the  character  which  his  writ 
ings  inspired,  he  was  supposed  by 
everybody  to  be  always  ripe  for  a 
frolic  and  for  a  roar  of  merriment, 
and  that  he  was  good  at  telling  sto 
ries  as  in  writing  his  droll  descrip 
tions,  and  thankful  for  the  privi 
lege.  He  stirred  not  an  inch.  More 
than  a  thousand  persons,  in  the  gal 
leries  and  elsewhere,  were  on  the 
tiptoe  of  expectation  at  hearing  "Si 
mon  Suggs"  deliver  his  convulsive 
jokes.  But  the  feast  came  not, 
when  the  entrance  of  the  committee 
put  an  end  to  the  embarrass memt  of 
Mr.  Hooper.  This  call  by  Judge 
Jones  was  referred  to  at  the  hotel, 
in  the  presence  of  Mr.  Hooper,  as 
an  evidence  of  the  popularity  of  the 
latter,  even  out  of  his  own  State. 
He  replied  that  a  liberty  had  been 
taken  with  his  name  which  was  re 
ally  offensive,  as  showing  that  oth 
ers  looked  upon  him  as  a  mere 
story-teller,  with  nothing  solid  in 
his  composition.  He  confessed  and 
511 


Southern 


regretted  that  his  writings  had  es 
tablished  that  character  in  public  es 
timation,  and  that  he  felt  its  de 
pressing  influence  whenever  he  de 
sired  or  aimed  to  soar  above  it  to 
a  higher  rank  before  the  public. 
His  ambition  had  been  to  move  in 
quite  a  different  channel,  to  enjoy 
the  respect  of  men,  but  he  had  un 
fortunately  obtained  a  reputation 
which  cut  off  all  such  hopes.  It 
was  an  evil  day  to  his  fortunes  and 
to  his  happiness  when  he  embarked 
in  that  class  of  literature,  or  other 
wise  became  a  chronic  story-teller 
for  the  diversion  of  his  companions. 
He  said  it  was  probably  too  late  to 
rectify  the  blunder,  and  that  he  must 
continue  to  suffer  the  conse 
quences. 

As  more  than  intimated,  Mr. 
Hooper  has  created,  or  perhaps  dis 
covered,  in  Capt.  Suggs  a  charac 
ter  that  will  live  at  least  in  tradi 
tion,  if  not  in  literature.  The  book 
is  out  of  print,  but  the  exploits  of 
512 


5obnson  Jones  hooper. 

the  genial  but  shrewd  and  unprin 
cipled  Captain  are  still  narrated. 
Simon's  father  was  a  "hard-shell" 
Baptist  preacher,  very  severe  in 
his  family  government  of  son  or 
slave ;  yet  when  the  old  man  found 
his  son  Simon  and  the  black  boy 
Bill  in  a  game  of  cards,  Bill  got  the 
beating,  while  under  plea  of  dis 
closing  points  of  the  game  Simon 
enticed  his  father  and  won  from  him 
a  certain  pony,  Bunch,  and  at  the 
same  time  obtained  his  freedom. 
From  that  time  as  a  gambler  and 
fraud  of  the  first  water  his  adven 
turous  career  began.  Often  he  was 
flush,  but  oftener  in  hard  luck.  Ar- 
temus  Ward  said  of  his  kangaroo : 
"He  is  an  'amoosin'  cuss."  Suggs 
was  always  in  a  good  humor,  and 
won  the  admiration  in  a  way  of 
those  he  fleeced.  Whether  "fight 
ing  the  tiger"  and  losing,  or  posing 
as  a  free-handed,  easy-going  Ken 
tucky  gentleman  borrowing  money 
and  getting  large  credit,  he  ever 
513 


Soutbern  I>umorist0« 


beams  with  sunshine,  and  is  the  cen 
tral  figure  of  every  crowd.  In  one 
of  his  protracted  seasons  of  hard 
Juck  he  goes  to  a  backwoods  camp 
meeting,  and  the  outcome  is  true  to 
the  characteristics  of  Capt.  Suggs, 
as  witness  the  following  account : 

"The  attention  of  many  having 
been  directed  to  the  Captain  by  the 
preacher's  remarks,  he  was  soon 
surrounded  by  numerous  well- 
meaning  and  doubtless  very  pious 
persons,  each  one  of  whom  seemed 
bent  on  the  application  of  his  own 
particular  recipe  for  the  salvation  of 
souls.  For  a  long  time  the  Captain 
stood  silent,  or  answered  the  inces 
sant  stream  of  exhortation  only 
with  a  sneer,  but  at  length  his  coun 
tenance  began  to  give  token  of  in 
ward  emotion.  First,  his  eyelids 
twitched ;  then  his  upper  lip  quiv 
ered  ;  next  a  transparent  drop 
formed  on  one  of  his  eyelashes,  and 
a  similar  one  on  the  tip  of  his  nose  ; 
and  at  last  a  sudden  bursting  of  air 
514 


Sobnson  Jones  Ibooper. 

from  nose  and  mouth  told  that 
Capt.  Suggs  was  overpowered  by 
his  emotion.  At  the  moment  of  the 
explosion  he  made  a  feint  as  if  to 
rush  from  the  crowd ;  but  he  was  in 
experienced  hands,  who  well  knew 
that  the  battle  was  more  than  half 
won.  'Hold  to  him/  said  one.  'It's 
a  workin'  in  him  as  strong  as  a 
Dick  horse.'  'Pour  it  into  him,' 
said  another;  'it'll  all  come  right 
directly.'  'That's  the  way  I  love  to 
see  'em  do,'  observed  a  third ;  'when 
you  begin  to  draw  the  water  from 
their  eyes  'tain't  gwine  to  be  long 
afore  you'll  have  'em  on  their 
knees.'  And  so  they  clung  to  the 
Captain  manfully,  and  half 
dragged,  half  led  him  to  the  mourn 
er's  bench,  by  which  he  threw  him 
self  down,  altogether  unmanned  and 
bathed  in  tears.  Great  was  the  re 
joicing  of  the  brethren  as  they  sang, 
shouted,  and  prayed  around  him, 
for  by  this  time  it  had  come  to  be 
generally  known  that  the  'oonvict- 
515 


Soutbern  t>umortet0* 

ed'  old  man  was  Capt.  Simon 
Suggs,  the  very  'chief  of  sinners' 
in  all  that  region.  The  Captain  re 
mained  groveling  in  the  dust  dur 
ing  the  usual  time,  and  gave  vent 
to  even  more  than  the  requisite 
number  of  sobs  and  groans  and 
heart-piercing  cries.  At  length, 
when  the  proper  time  had  arrived, 
he  bounced  up,  and  with  a  face  ra 
diant  with  joy  commenced  a  series 
of  vaultings  and  tumblings  which 
'laid  in  the  shade'  all  previous  per 
formances  of  the  sort  at  that  camp 
meeting.  The  brethren  were  in  ec 
stasies  at  this  demonstrative  evi 
dence  of  completion  of  the  work; 
and  whenever  Suggs  shouted  'Glo- 
ree !'  at  the  top  of  his  lungs,  every 
one  of  them  shouted  it  back,  until 
the  woods  rang  wi'th  echoes.  The 
effervescent  having  partially  sub 
sided,  Suggs  was  put  upon  his  pins 
to  relate  his  experience,  which  he 
did  somewhat  in  this  style,  first 
brushing  the  tear  drops  from  his 
516 


$obn0on  Jones  Ibooper. 

eyes,  and  giving  the  end  of  his  nose 
a  preparatory  wring  with  his  fin 
gers  to  free  it  of  the  superabundant 
moisture : 

"  'Friends,'  he  said,  'it  don't  take 
long  to  curry  a  short  horse/  ac- 
cordin'  to  the  old  sayin',  and  I'll 
give  you  the  perticklers  of  the 
way  I  was  "brought  to  a  knowl 
edge"  ' — here  the  Captain  wiped  his 
eyes,  brushed  the  tip  of  his  nose, 
and  snuffled  a  little — 'in  less  'n  no 
time.  ["Praise  the  Lord!"  ejac 
ulated  a  bystander.]  You  see  I 
come  here  full  o'  romancin'  and 
devilment,  and  jist  to  make  game 
of  all  the  purceedin's.  Well,  sure 
enough,  I  done  so  for  some  time, 
and  was  a  thinkin'  how  I  should 
play  some  trick —  ["Dear  soul 
alive,  don't  he  talk  sweet?"  cried  an 
old  lady  in  black  silk.  "Whar's  John 
Dobbs?  You  Sukey!"  screaming 
at  a  negro  woman  on  the  other  side 
of  the  square,  "ef  you  don't  hunt 
up  your  Mas'  John  in  a  minute,  and 
517 


Soutbern  tmmorists* 


have  him  here  to  listen  to  his  'speri- 
ence,  I'll  tuck  you  up  when  I  git 
home  and  give  you  a  hundred  and 
fifty  lashes,  madam — see  ef  I  don't ! 
Blessed  Lord!"  referring  again  to 
the  Captain's  relation,  "ain't  it  a 
precious  'scourse?"]  I  was  jist  a- 
thinkin'  how  I  should  play  some 
trick  to  turn  it  all  into  redecule 
when  they  begun  to  come  round  me 
and  talk.  'Long  at  fust  I  didn't 
mind  it,  but  arter  a  little  that  broth 
er  [pointing  to  the  reverend  gentle 
man  who  had  so  successfully  car 
ried  the  unbeliever  through  the  Old 
and  New  Testaments,  and  who,  Si 
mon  was  convinced,  was  the  "big 
dog  of  the  tanyard"]  that  brother 
spoke  a  word  that  struck  me  clean 
to  the  heart  and  run  all  over  me, 
like  fire  in  dry  grass.  ["I — I — I  can 
bring  'em!"  cried  the  preacher  al 
luded  to,  in  a  tone  of  exultation. 
"Lord,  thou  knows  ef  thy  servant 
can't  stir  'em  up  nobody  else  need 
not  try;  but  the  glory  ain't  mine. 
518 


Jobnson  Jones  Ibooper. 

I'm  a  poor  wurrum  of  the  dust,"  he 
added  with  ill-managed  affecta 
tion.]  And  so  from  that  I  felt 
somethin'  a-pullin'  me  inside. 
["Grace !  grace !  nothin'  but  grace !" 
exclaimed  one,  meaning  that 
"grace"  had  been  operating  in  the 
Captain's  gastric  region.]  And 
then/  continued  Suggs,  'I  wanted  to 
git  off,  but  they  hilt  me,  and  bime- 
by  I  felt  so  missuble  I  had  to  go 
yonder  [pointing  to  the  mourner's 
seat],  'and  when  I  lay  down  thar 
it  got  wuss  and  wuss,  and  'peared 
like  somethin'  was  a  mashin'  down 
on  my  back.  ["That  was  his  load 
o'  sin,"  said  one  of  the  brethren. 
"Never  mind ;  it'll  tumble  off  pres 
ently;  see  ef  it  don't."]'  And  he 
shook  his  head  professionally  and 
knowingly." 

According  to  the  Captain's  ac 
count  of  the  affair,  it  did  tumble  off. 
He  was  the  lion  of  the  day — could 
pray  longer  and  sing  louder  than 
the  oldest  saint.  Finally  he  wishes 
519 


Southern  fmmorists* 


to  turn  missionary.    The  following 
.  is  the  account  of  the  "collection"  for 
that  purpose : 

"Yes,  breethring,"  said  the  Cap 
tain,  rising  ito  his  feet,  "I  want  to 
start  a  little  'sociation  close  to  me, 
and  I  want  you  all  to  help.  I'm 
mighty  poor  myself,  as  poor  as  any 
of  you.  Don't  leave,  breethring" 
[observing  that  several  of  the  well 
to  do  were  about  to  go  off] ,  "don't 
leave;  ef  you  ain't  able  to  afford 
anything,  jist  give  us  your  blessin', 
an'  it'll  be  all  the  same."  This  in 
sinuation  did  the  business,  and  the 
sensitive  individuals  reseated  them 
selves.  "It's  mighty  little  of  this 
world's  goods  I've  got,"  resumed 
Suggs,  pulling  off  his  hat,  and  hold 
ing  it  before  him,  "but  I'll  bury 
that  in  the  cause,  anyhow,"  and  he 
deposited  his  last  five-dollar  bill  in 
the  hat.  There  was  a  murmur  of 
approbation  at  the  Captain's  liber 
ality  throughout  the  assembly. 
Suggs  now  commenced  collecting, 
520 


5obnson  Jones  l&oopet. 

and  very  prudently  attacked  first 
the  gentlemen  who  had  shown  a 
disposition  to  escape.  These,  to  ex 
culpate  themselves  from  anything 
like  poverty,  contributed  hand 
somely.  "Look  here,  breethring," 
said  the  Captain,  displaying  the 
bank  notes  thus  received,  "Broth 
er  Snooks  has  drapt  a  five  wi'  me, 
and  Brother  Snodgrass  a  ten.  In 
course  't  ain't  expected  that  you 
that  ain't  so  well  off  as  them  will 
give  as  much  ;  let  every  one  give  ac- 
cordin'  to  the'r  means."  This  was 
another  chain-shot  that  raked  as  it 
went.  "Who  so  low"  as  not  to  be 
able  to  contribute  as  much  as 
Snooks  and  Snodgrass?  "Here's 
all  the  small  money  I've  got  about 
me,"  said  a  burly  old  fellow,  osten 
tatiously  handing  to  Suggs,  over 
the  heads  of  a  half  dozen,  a  ten 
dollar  bill.  "That's  what  I  call 
magnanimous  !"  exclaimed  the  Cap 
tain  ;  "that's  the  way  every  rich  man 
ought  to  do!"  These  examples 
16  521 


Southern  twmorists* 


were  followed  more  or  less  closely 
by  almost  all  present,  for  Simon  had 
excited  the  pride  of  purse  of  the 
congregation,  and  a  very  handsome 
sum  was  collected  in  a  very  short 
time.  The  Rev.  Mr.  Bugg,  as  soon 
as  he  observed  that  our  hero  had 
obtained  all  that  was  to  be  had  at 
that  time,  went  to  him  and  inquired 
what  amount  had  been  collected. 
The  Captain  replied  that  it  was  still 
uncounted,  but  that  it  couldn't  be 
much  under  a  hundred.  "Well, 
Brother  Suggs,  you'd  better  count 
it  and  turn  it  over  to  me  now ;  I'm 
goin'  to  leave  presently."  "No," 
said  Suggs ;  "can't  do  it."  "Why? 
what's  the  matter?"  inquired  Bugg. 
"It's  got  to  be  prayed  over  fust," 
said  Simon,  a  heavenly  smile  illu 
minating  his  whole  face.  "Well," 
replied  Bugg,  "less  go  one  side  and 
do  it."  "No,"  said  Simon,  solemn 
ly.  Mr.  Bugg  gave  a  look  of  in 
quiry.  "You  see  that  krick 
swamp?"  asked  Suggs.  "I'm 
522 


5obnson  Jones  ibooper. 

gwine  down  in  thar,  and  I'm  gwine 
to  lay  this  money  down  so"  (show 
ing  how  he  would  place  it  on  the 
ground),  "and  I'm  gwine  to  git  on 
these  here  knees"  (slapping  the 
right  one),  "and  I'm  n-e-v-e-r 
gwine  to  quit  the  grit  ontwell  I  feel 
it's  got  the  blessin'.  And  nobody 
ain't  got  to  be  thar  but  me !" 

Mr.  Bugg  greatly  admired  the 
Captain's  fervent  piety,  and,  bid 
ding  him  godspeed,  turned  off. 
Capt.  Suggs  "struck"  for  the 
swamp  sure  enough,  where  his 
horse  was  already  hitched.  "Ef 
them  fellers  ain't  done  to  a  crack- 
lin'/'  he  muttered  to  himself  as  he 
mounted,  "I'll  never  bet  on  two  pair 
ag'in.  They're  peart  at  the  snap 
game  theyselves,  but  they're  badly 
lewed  this  hitch.  Well,  'live  and  let 
live'  is  a  good  old  motter,and  it's  my 
sentiments  adzactly!"  And  giving 
the  spur  to  his  horse,  off  he  can 
tered. 

Mr.  Hooper's  book  is  at  present 
523 


Soutbern  f>umortet0« 


inaccessible  to  the  general  reader, 
hence  larger  selections  have  been 
made  than  will  be  done  in  other 
cases.  Judge  Longstreet  was  a 
Democrat  in  politics,  but  it  is  'to 
be  noted  that  Baldwin  and  Hooper 
were  both  Whigs,  but,  unlike  Col. 
Crockett,  their  humor  was  not  em 
ployed  to  promote  their  political 
views. 

524 


TOilliam  Gappan  £bomp-« 
son. 

WHO  has  not  heard  of  Maj.  Jones 
and  his  courtship  of  Miss  Mary 
Stallins?  Who  has  not  laughed 
over  the  Christmas  present  which 
he  gave  Miss  Mary?  In  fact,  Maj. 
Jones  is  much  better  known  than 
his  creator,  Mr.  Thompson.  In  this 
justly  famous  courtship  from  the 
very  beginning  "Barkis  is  willin'," 
so  far  as  both  young  people  are  con 
cerned,  and  the  old  folks  as  well,  and 
the  final  result  is  assured.  Yet  the 
advances  made  are  so  grotesque 
and  withal  so  natural  and  country 
folks  like  that  interest  is  maintained 
until  the  consummation  of  shrewd 
plans  and  joyous  hopes  in  the  happy 
marriage  which  all  saw  was  bound 
to  follow.  Nor  does  interest  lag 
when  the  Major  starts  on  his  trav- 
525 


Soutbern 


els  and  visits  the  great  cities,  leav 
ing  the  wife  at  home,  however 
much  against  his  will,  for  Maj. 
Jones  and  his  Mary,  contrary  to  the 
custom  of  some,  continued  to  be 
sweethearts  after  marriage. 

William  Tappan  Thompson  was 
born  in  Ravenna,  Ohio,  August  31. 
1812.  His  father  was  a  Virginian, 
and  his  mother  Irish.  He  lost  his 
mother  at  the  age  of  eleven,  when 
his  father  removed  to  Philadelphia, 
and  soon  after  died.  Young  Thomp 
son  then  entered  the  office  of  the 
Philadelphia  Chronicle,  which  place 
he  left  to  become  Secretary  to 
James  D.  Westcott,  Territorial  Gov 
ernor  of  Florida.  He  studied  law, 
but  in  1835  became  associated  with 
Judge  Longstreet  in  editing  the 
State  Rights  Sentinel,  published  at 
Augusta,  Ga.  He  served  in  the 
Seminole  war,  and  in  the  autumn 
of  1836  established  at  Augusta  the 
Mirror,  'the  first  purely  literary  pa 
per  attempted  in  the  State.  This, 
526 


TOitllfam  aappan  Cbompson. 

like  most  Southern  ventures  of  the 
kind,  was  merged  in  the  Family 
Companion,  at  Macon,  whither  Mr. 
Thompson  betook  himself. 

As  editor  of  the  Miscellany,  at 
Madison,  he  won  his  first  reputa 
tion  by  the  "Major  Jones  Letters," 
contributed  to  the  paper.  In  1845 
he  was  at  first  associate,  then  sole 
editor  of  the  Western  Continent,  at 
Baltimore,  but  afterwards  went  to 
Savannah,  Ga.,  and  founded  the 
Morning  News,  with  which  he  was 
connected  until  his  death,  March  24, 
1882. 

In  the  civil  war  Mr.  Thompson 
was  aid  to  Gov.  Joseph  Brown.  He 
was  a  delegate  to  the  National 
Democratic  Convention  in  1868, 
and  a  member  of  the  constitution 
al  convention  in  1877.  Some  of  his 
editorials  were  bitter,  but  his  life 
was  simple  and  genial.  His  liter 
ary  efforts  are  pure  and  of  the  kind 
liest  spirit. 

"Major  Jones's  Courtship"  was 
527 


Southern  Ibumortetg* 


published  in  Philadelphia  in  1840; 
"Major  Jones's  Chronicles  of  Pine- 
ville,"  in  1843;  "Major  Jones's 
Sketches  of  Travel,"  in  1848 ;  "The 
Live  Indian,"  a  farce,  and  a  dram 
atization  of  the  "Vicar  of  Wake- 
field"  were  produced  in  this  coun 
try  and  abroad  with  success.  He 
also  edited  one  of  the  State  codes, 
and  after  his  death  a  daughter,  Mrs. 
Wade,  published  another  collection 
of  his  sketches  under  the  title, 
"John's  Alive;  or,  The  Bride  of  a 
Ghost,  and  Other  Sketches."  Mr. 
Thompson  will  live  as  Maj.  Jones 
and  in  his  courting  character  rath 
er  than  as  a  traveler.  There  is  space 
only  for  a  few  brief  snatches  as  set 
ting  forth  his  style : 

"You  know  the  Stallinses  lives  on 
the  plantation  in  the  summer,  and 
goes  to  town  in  the  winter.  Well, 
Miss  Mary  Stallins,  who,  you  know, 
is  the  darlinest  gal  in  the  county, 
come  home  tother  day  to  see  her 
folks.  You  know,  she's  been  to  the 
528 


TWWlfam  ftappan  abompson. 

female  college  down  to  Macon  for 
most  a  year  now.  Before  she  went 
she  used  to  be  jest  as  plain  as  a  old 
shoe,  and  used  to  go  fishin'  and 
huckleberryin'  with  us,  with  noth- 
in'  but  a  calico  sunbonnet  on,  and 
was  the  wildest  thing  you  ever  seed. 
Well  I  always  used  'to  have  a  sort 
of  a  sneakin'  notion  after  Mary 
Stallins,  and  so  when  she  come  I 
brushed  up,  and  was  'termined  to 
have  a  right  serious  talk  with  her 
about  old  matters,  not  knowing  but 
she  mought  be  captivated  by  some 
of  them  Macon  fellers.  Miss  Mary 
looked  mighty  sort  o'  reddish  when 
I  shuck  her  hand  and  told  her  how 
dy,  and  she  made  a  sort  of  stoop 
over  and  a  dodge  back,  like  the 
little  gals  does  to  the  schoolmarm, 
and  said :  'Good  evening,  Mr. 
Jones.'  (She  used  to  always  call  me 
jest  Joe.)  Well,  we  sot  thar  and 
talked,  and  the  way  I  spit  was  'larm- 
in'  to  the  crickets.  I  axed  Miss 
Mary  if  she  had  any  bows  down 
529 


Soutbern  tmmoriste* 

to  Macon.  'O  yes,'  she  said;  and 
then  she  went  on  and  named  over 
Matthew  Matix,  Nat.  Filosofy,  Al. 
Geber,  Retric  Stronomy,  and  a 
whole  heap  of  fellers,  that  she'd 
been  keepin'  company  with  most 
all  her  time.  'Wei/  ses  I,  'I  s'pose 
they're  mazin'  pop'lar  with  you, 
ain't  they,  Miss  Mary?'  for  I  felt 
mighty  oneasy,  and  begun  to  spit 
a  good  deal  worse.  'Yes,'  ses  she, 
'they're  the  most  interestin'  com 
panions  I  ever  had,  and  I  am  anx 
ious  to  resume  their  pleasant  so 
ciety.'  I  tell  you  what,  that  sort  o' 
stumped  me,  and  I  spit  right  slap 
on  the  chunk,  and  made  it  'flicker 
and  flare'  like  the  mischief.  It  was 
a  good  thing  it  did,  for  I  blushed  as 
blue  as  a  Ginny  squash." 

With  various  amusing  and  some 
times  embarrassing  situations  the 
courtship  progressed,  the  usual  rival 
appeared,  and  the  corresponding  ha 
tred  for  such  rival  was  felt,  but  the 
case  is  always  entertaining.  Timid- 
530 


William  ftappan  Cbompson, 

ity  thwarts  his  various  efforts  to 
venture;  upon  the  subject  nearest  his 
heart,  until  fortune  favors.  This  is 
best  told  in  his  own  language  : 

"  'Never  mind/  ses  Miss  Mary, 
'Majer's  got  to  give  me  a  C'ris'mus 
gift — won't  you,  Majer?'  'O.  yes/ 
ses  I,  'you  know  I  promised  you 
one/  'But  I  didn't  mean  that/  ses 
she.  'I've  got  one  for  you,  what  I 
want  you  to  keep  all  your  life,  but 
it  would  take  a  two-bushel  bag  to 
hold  it/  ses  I.  'O,  that's  the  kind/ 
ses  she.  'But  will  you  promise  to 
keep  it  as  long  as  you  live  ?'  ses  I." 

She  promised,  and  sure  enough 
something  was  found  to  be  in  the 
bag  as  it  hung  swayed  by  the  bitter 
ly  cold  wind. 

"Bimeby  they  all  come  running 
out  on  the  porch.  'My  goodness! 
what  is  it?' ses  Miss  Mary.  'O,  it's 
alive !'  ses  Miss  Kesiah.  'I  seed  it 
move/  'Call  Cato,  and  make  him 
cut  the  rope/  ses  Miss  Carline,  'and 
let's  see  what  it  is.  Come  here, 
531 


Soutbern  twmoristg* 


Cato,  and  git  this  bag  down.'  'Don't 
hurt  it  for  the  world/  ses  Miss 
Mary.  Cato  untied  the  rope  that 
was  round  the  jice  and  let  the  bag 
down  easy  on  the  floor,  and  I  'turned 
out,  all  covered  with  corn  meal  from 
head  to  foot.  'Goodness  gracious !' 
ses  Miss  Mary,  'if  it  ain't  the  Majer 
himself !'  'Yes,'  ses  I,  'an'  you  know 
you  promised  to  keep  my  C'ris'mus 
present  as  long  as  you  lived.'  The 
gals  laughed  themselves  almost  to 
death,  and  went  to  brushin'  off  the 
meal  as  fast  as  they  could,  sayin' 
they  was  gwine  to  hang  that  bag 
up  every  C'ris'mus  till  they  got  hus 
bands  too.  Miss  Mary  (bless  her 
eyes !)  she  blushed  as  beautiful  as 
a  morning-glory,  and  ses  she'd 
stick  to  her  word.  She  was  right 
out  of  bed,  and  her  hair  wasn't 
komed.  and  her  dress  wasn't  fixed 
at  all,  but  the  way  she  looked  pretty 
was  real  distractin'.  I  do  believe  if 
I  was  froze  stiff  one  look  at  her 
sweet  face,  as  she  stood  thar'  look- 
532 


William  TTappan  ITbompson.  ;, 

in'  down  to  the  floor  with  her 
roguish  eyes,  and  her  bright  curls 
fallin'  all  over  her  snowy  neck 
would  have  fotched  gae  to.  I  tell 
you  what,  it  was  worth  hangin'  in 
a  meal  bag  from  one  C'ris'mus  to 
another  to  feel  as  I  have  ever 
sence." 

533 


Col.  Bavs  Crockett. 


"TRUTH  is  stranger  than  fiction," 
says  the  adage,  and  it  is  verified 
in  the  case  of  Col.  Davy  Crockett, 
who  fell  among  the  last  of  the  im 
mortal  band  struck  down  at  the 
Alamo.  No  character  in  all  Amer 
ican  fiction  stands  out  in  such  life 
like  proportions  as  Col.  Crockett, 
and  yet  his  adventures  were  real. 
If  courage  and  patriotism  had  not 
made  him  famous,  his  unswerving 
integrity,  shrewd  common  sense, 
and  quaint  humor  would  have  per 
petuated  his  name.  Davy  Crockett 
was  born  in  Greene  County,  Tenn., 
August  17,  1786.  Being  brought 
up  as  he  was  in  a  log  cabin,  he  re 
ceived  little  education,  but  early 
became  noted  as  an  expert  marks 
man,  trained  in  the  lore  of  the  for 
est.  He  commanded  a  battalion  of 
rifles  in  the  Creek  campaign.  He 
534 


Colonel  2>ax>B  Grocfcett. 

lived  for  a  time  in  Middle  Tennes 
see,  but  finally  settled  near  the 
Obion  River,  in  West  Tennessee. 

Col.  Crockett,  after  having  served 
in  the  Legislature,  was  elected  to 
Congress  in  1827,  and  served  two 
terms.  He  was  defeated  for  the 
third  term,  but  reflected  later  on. 
He  was  a  Jackson  man  at  first,  but, 
like  John  Bell  and  many  others, 
disagreed  with  the  national  policy 
of  Old  Hickory.  So  firm  a  stand 
did  he  take  that  in  a  tour  through 
Northern  cities  great  crowds  turned 
out  to  hear  him  arraign  the  admin 
istration  of  Jackson.  Crockett 
picked  up  information  rapidly,  so 
•that  if  caught  unawares  upon  any 
point  he  sought  information,  and 
was  soon  in  position  to  speak  ad 
visedly  upon  the  subject.  His  mot 
to  was  "Go  ahead,"  and  he  never 
fell  below  his  motto.  In  1835  the 
entire  power  of  the  administration 
was  put  forth  against  him,  and 
Crockett  was  defeated  for  Congress 
535 


Soutbem  Tbumorists* 

by  a  small  majority.  As  he  had 
previously  announced  in  case  of 
such  event,  he  immediately  set  out 
for  Texas.  His  dauntless  courage 
at  the  Alamo  is  known  to  all  the 
world.  Crockett  gave  out  his 
"Reminiscences"  for  publication 
because  others  had  invented  adven 
tures  for  him.  Even  now  it  is  next 
to  impossible  to  determine  the  ve 
racious  from  'the  fictitious,  as  al 
most  anything  of  a  comical  nature 
which  has  happened  to  any  one  is 
credited  to  Crockett.  Eccentric 
and  unique  he  may  have  been,  nev 
ertheless  his  racy  humor  lifted  him 
out  of  the  ordinary,  and  his  cour 
age  and  straightforward  honesty 
made  him  an  honor  to  the  State 
which  seemed  to  drive  him  into  the 
wilderness. 

When  his  "Reminiscences"  were 
published  he  gave  the  following  ac 
count  of  the  affair : 

"I  don't  know  of  anything  in  my 
book  to  be  criticised  on  by  honora- 
536 


Colonel  2>avis  Crockett. 

Lie   men.      Is   it   on   my   spelling? 
That's  not  my  trade.     Is  it  on  my 
grammar?     I  hadn't  time  to  learn 
it,  and  make  no  pretensions  to  it. 
Is  it  on  the  order  and  arrangement 
of  my  book?     I  never  wrote  one 
before,  and  never  read  very  many, 
and  of  course  know  mighty  little 
about  that.     Will  it  be  on  the  au 
thorship  of  the  book  ?    This  I  claim, 
and  I'll  hang  on  to  it  like  a  wax 
plaster.     The   whole   book   is   my 
own,  and  every  sentiment  and  sen 
tence  in  it.     I  would  not  be  such 
a  fool,  or  knave  either,  as  to  deny 
that  I  have  had  it  hastily  run  over 
by  a  friend  or  so,  and  that  some 
little  alterations  have  been  made  in*, 
the  spelling  and  grammar;  and  I 
am  not  so  sure  that  it  is  not  the 
worse  of  even  that,  for  I  despise  the 
way  of  spelling  contrary  to  nature. 
And   as   for  grammar,   it's   pretty 
much  a  thing  of  nothing  at  last, 
after  all  the  fuss  that's  made  aboil": 
it.     In  some  places  I  wouldn't  suf- 
17  537 


Soutbern 


fer  either  the  spelling,  or  grammar, 
or  anything  else  to  be  touched,  and 
therefore  it  will  be  found  in  my  own 
way." 

A  glimpse  of  Col.  Crockett  in 
Philadelphia  throws  into  bold  re 
lief  the  man  as  he  was : 

"Early  after  breakfast  I  was  taken 
to  the  waterworks,  where  I  saw 
several  of  the  gentlemen  managers. 
This  is  a  grand  sight,  and  no  won 
der  the  Philadelphians  ask  every 
one  that  comes  :  'Have  you  seen  the 
waterworks?'  Just  think  of  a  few 
wheels  throwing  up  more  water 
than  five  hundred  thousand  people 
can  use — yes,  and  waste,  too,  for 
such  scrubbing  of  steps,  and  even 
the  very  pavements  under  your  feet, 
I  never  saw.  Indeed,  I  looked  close 
to  see  if  the  housemaids  had  not 
web  feet,  they  walked  so  well  in 
water;  and  as  for  a  fire,  it  has  no 
chance  at  all.  They  just  screw  on 
a  long  hollow  leather  with  a  brass 
nose  on  it,  dash  upstairs,  and  seem 
538 


Colonel  BavE  Crockett. 

to  draw  on  Noah's  flood.  The  next 
place  I  visited  was  the  mint.  Here 
I  saw  them  coining  gold  and  silver 
in  abundance,  and  they  were  the 
rale  e  pluribus  unum;  not  this  elec 
tioneering  trash,  that  they  send  out 
to  cheat  the  poor  people,  telling 
them  they  would  all  be  paid  in  gold 
and  silver,  when  the  poor  deceived 
creatures  had  nothing  coming  to 
them.  A  chip  with  a  spit  on  the 
back  of  it  is  as  good  currency  as 
an  eagle,  provided  you  can  get  the 
image  of  the  bird.  It's  all  non 
sense.  The  President,  both  Cabi 
nets,  and  Congress  to  boot,  can't 
enact  poor  men  into  rich.  Hard 
knocks,  and  plenty  of  them,  can 
only  build  up  a  fellow's  self." 

The  backwoods  philosopher  was 
equally  at  home  in  New  York  : 

"From  thence  I  went  to  the  City 
Hall,  and  was  introduced  to  the 
mayor  of  the  city  and  several  of  the 
aldermen.  The  mayor  is  a  plain, 
common-sense  looking  man.  I  was 
539 


Soutbern  1bumori0t04 


told  that  he  had  been  a  tanner. 
That  pleased  me,  for  I  thought  both 
him  and  me  had  dumb  up  a  long 
way  from  where  we  started,  and 
it  is  truly  as  'Honor  and  fame  from 
no  condition  rise,'  that  'It's  the  grit 
of  a  fellow  that  makes  the  man.'  " 

No  one  can  read  the  life  and  au 
tobiography    of    Crockett    without 
having  a  higher  appreciation  of  one 
of  nature's  noblemen. 
540 


,  (Beorae  OTtiltam 


IT  is  a.  far  cry  from  Davy  Crock 
ett  to  the  genial  and  scholarly  ed 
itor  of  the  Southern  Literary  Mes 
senger,  Dr.  George  William  Bag- 
by,  who  was  par  excellence  the 
Virginian  humorist.  In  fact,  his 
humorous  productions  have  a  finer 
literary  quality  than  those  of  any 
other  Southerner. 

Few  of  those  who  have  recited, 
or  heard  others  recite,  "How  Ruby 
Played,"  realize  that  the  selection 
in  question  was  written  south  of 
Mason  and  Dixon's  line. 

Dr.  Bagby  was  born  in  the  coun 
ty  of  Buckingham,  Va.,  August  13, 
1828.  He  fought  a  battle  with  dys 
pepsia  all  his  life.  His  education 
was  attained  partly  at  Princeton,  N. 
J.,  and  partly  at  Newark,  Del.,  un 
der  the  tuition  of  Dr.  John  S.  Hart, 
541 


Soutbern  fjumorista* 

whose  ''Manual  of  American  Liter 
ature"  was  the  first  to  take  anything 
like  adequate  note  of  what  the 
South  had  attempted  in  literature. 
At  the  close  of  the  Sophomore  year 
young  Bagby  left  college  to  study 
medicine,  taking  his  degree  of  M.D. 
at  the  University  of  Pennsylvania. 
His  sign  appeared  at  Lynchburg, 
his  father's  home,  though,  like 
Keats,  he  cared  for  literature  more. 
Local  fame  soon  came  to  the  new 
contributor  to  local  papers,  and 
early  in  the  fifties  we  find  him  own 
er  and  editor  of  the  Express  at 
Lynchburg.  This  was  a  bright 
journal,  but  closed  its  career  in  two 
or  three  years.  In  the  meantime 
Dr.  Bagby  had  written  for  Harper's 
Magazine  seveal  articles  which  at 
tracted  attention.  Soon  after  he  be 
came  Washington  correspondent  of 
the  New  Orleans  Crescent,  while  at 
the  same  time  he  contributed  to  a 
variety  of  publications,  including 
the  Atlantic  Monthly  and  SoutJiern 
542 


2Jr.  George  IIBUUiam 

Literary  Messenger.  In  the  latter 
periodical  he  first  made  a  popular 
and  lasting  impression  as  a  humor 
ist  of  fresh  and  rare  powers.  Slangy 
but  fresh  as  morning  dew  in  May 
were  "Letters  of  MJozis  Addums  to 
Billy  Evans,  of  Kurdsville,"  in 
which  the  sights  and  wonders  of  a 
large  city  are  described  by  a  rustic 
writer  to  a  rustic  reader.  The  suc 
cess  of  these  efforts  naturally  point 
ed  to  him  as  the  successor  of  John 
R.  Thompson,  whose  failing  health 
demanded  a  change. 

Dr.  Bagby  took  editorial  charge 
of  the  Messenger  in  1860,  when  ev 
ery  wind  blew  war  and  not  litera 
ture.  During  the  war  he  was  Rich 
mond  correspondent  of  a  large 
number  of  Southern  papers,  and  at 
the  close,  in  consequence  of  a  partial 
failure  of  eyesight,  he  took  the  lec 
ture  field.  In  1863  he  was  married 
to  Miss  Park  Ohamberlayne,  of 
Richmond,  hence  must  have  a  pro 
fession.  New  York  became  the 
543 


Soutbern  Tbumorista* 

center  of  his  operations  in  1865. 
Some  of  his  lectures,  such  as  "Ba 
con  and  Greens,"  "The  Disease 
Called  Love,"  and  "Womenfolks," 
attained  great  success,  but  when  he 
essayed  "The  Virginian  Negro"  the 
Nofth  was  not  then  ready  to  learn 
the  truth.  He  returned  South  and 
became  editor  of  the  Native  Vir 
ginian,  published  at  Orange  Court 
house.  In  1869  he  became  State 
Librarian  of  Virginia  for  a  time. 
About  this  time  he  wrote  "Meek- 
inses'  Twinses,"  which  equaled 
"Mozis  Addums"  in  popularity,  and 
"Rubenstein  at  the  Piano,"  which 
has  gone  into  almost  every  collec 
tion  of  recitations.  His  articles  and 
sketches  continued  until  he  passed 
away,  in  1883.  In  1^84  his  wife  pub 
lished  "Selections  from  His  Writ 
ings"  in  two  volumes,  written  in 
high  literary  art,  though  Dr.  Bagby 
is  said  to  have  created  a  style  pe 
culiarly  his  own.  Genuine  humor, 
as  well  as  sound  philosophy, 
544 


Dr.  CSeorge  William 

abounds.  Brief  selections  would 
be  rank  injustice.  The  ''Old  Vir 
ginia  Gentleman"  is  characteristic 
both  of  subject  and  writer,  since  he 
himself  was  one  of  the  truest  ex 
emplars  of  that  type.  "There  is  no 
man  left  in  Virginia  fit  to  lift  the  lid 
of  his  inkstand,"  wrote  Dr.  Lafferty. 
"Never  in  Virginia  letters  shall  we 
see  his  like  again,"  wrote  John  Es- 
ten  Cooke. 

545 


ABOUT  the  close  of  the  civil  war, 
while  Southern  people  were  faint 
under  the  weight  of  grief  and  woe, 
a  voice  began  to  chirp  a  cheerier 
note,  even  when  treating  of  war 
and  reconstructive  topics,  and 
smiles  returned  here  and  there  in 
stead  of  tears.  The  "Country  Phi 
losopher"  was  known  as  Bill  Arp. 
His  war  articles  were  collected  later 
on  under  the  title,  "A  Side  View  of 
the  Other  Side  of  the  Question." 
This  collection,  brimful  of  humor 
and  good  cheer,  as  well  as  philos 
ophy,  was  very  distinctly  Southern, 
but  did  not  preach  that  all  was  lost. 
In  time  Bill  Arp  was  identified  as 
Col.  C.  H.  Smith,  of  Georgia,  who 
continues  to  dispense  fun  and  good 
advice  to  his  fellow-countrymen. 

Soon  after  the  war  the  pseudonym 
546 


Gbarles  f>enn>  Smitb  an&  ©tbers. 

Sut  Lovingood  became  quite  famil 
iar  in  newspaper  circles,  particularly 
in  the  latitude  of  Tennessee.  His 
sketches,  coarse  as  they  were,  came 
to  be  much  sought  after.  Some  of 
his  situations  are  comical,  but  the 
book  in  which  they  were  finally  col 
lected  will  hardly  prove  immortal. 
The  author  was  GEORGE  W.  HAR 
RIS,  an  East  Tennesseean,  said  to 
have  been  very  somber  and  quiet. 

In  Col.  Watterson's  admirable 
collection  he  names  among  news 
paper  wits  GEORGE  D.  PRENTICE  as 
chief,  of  course,  then  follows  JOHN 
E.  HATCHER,  who  wrote  under  the 
name  of  G.  Washington  Bricks. 
Mr.  Hatcher  was  a  brilliant  para- 
grapher,  and  became  more  neces 
sary  to  the  paper  as  Mr.  Prentice 
grew  older.  John  Happy  was  Mr. 
ALBERT  ROBERTS,  of  Nashville. 
His  utterances  during  the  war  were 
bright  flashes  to  illumine  the  dreary 
hours  of  camp  life.  There  is  a  ten 
dency  to  burlesque  in  the  Southern 
547 


Soutbccn  1>umorlst0« 

character,  to  make  the  most  of  a 
disagreeable  situation — in  fact,  to 
treat  misfortune  as  a  joke  unless  the 
tragedy  be  too  real.  Many  pages 
have  been  filled  with  the  comical 
sayings  of  "Johnny  Reb,"  uttered 
some  of  them  in  the  darkest  days  of 
the  Confederacy,  when  "unmerci 
ful  disaster  followed  fast  and  fol 
lowed  faster." 

The  complaint  was  made  against 
Poe  that  he  lacked  humor,  but  no 
such  charge  can  be  sustained 
against  Southern  writers  of  recent 
date.  The  most  delicate  touches  of 
humor,  as  well  as  the  fun  of  the 
"laugh  and  grow  fat"  kind,  abound 
in  the  pages  of  Uncle  Remus, 
Thomas  Nelson  Page,  Mrs.  Ruth 
McEnery  Stuart,  Miss  Frances 
Courtney  Baylor — in  fact,  in  larger 
or  smaller  degree  in  all  the  post 
helium  writers  who  have  succeeded 
in  large  manner  in  turning  in  their 
direction  the  eyes  of  the  English- 
speaking  world. 

548 


political  TOriters  anb 
Ibistorians. 


O  great  crises  produce  great 
men,  or  do  men  of  inherent 

greatness  coming  in  groups 
lift  their  age  out  of  the  ordinary  limit 
and  range  of  events  ?  This  is  an  old 
question.  There  are  manifold  good 
men  whose  prayer  is  for  unity  of  be 
lief  and  uniformity  of  civil  institu 
tions  as  being  the  state  most  condu 
cive  to  the  development  of  the  race ; 
there  are  others  who  believe  that 
amid  the  lashings  of  mental  and 
moral  conflict,  and  the  howlings  of 
political  storms — yea,  amid  the  thun 
dering  guns  of  revolution — the  hu 
man  mind  awakes  from  its  lassitude, 
breaks  from  its  fetters,  and  soars  to 
the  lofty  realms  of  genius.  Be  this 
as  it  may,  great  occasions  and  great 
549 


political  "Udriters  an&  IMstorians. 

men  join  hands  and  together  walk 
over  the  earth.  There  have  been 
great  commanders  in  all  great  wars. 
When  a  Philip  has  sought  to  over 
throw  liberty,  a  Demosthenes  has 
appeared,  when  a  Catiline  would 
destroy  his  country,  a  Cicero  has 
thundered  from  the  forum ;  when  a 
tyrant  would  oppress  a  struggling 
people,  a  Patrick  Henry  has  not 
been  wanting.  Political  eloquence 
has  often  been  the  thunder  which 
has  frightened  oppressors,  but  the 
lightnings  which  these  thunders 
have  voiced  have  been  the  silent 
products  from  the  pens  of  political 
philosophers  —  the  Miltons  and 
Rousseaus — recluses  who  have  di 
rected  the  trend  of  human  opinion 
and  molded  systems  of  political 
principles  working  alone  far  from 
the  storm-torn  whirl  of  strife  and 
passion.  The  letters  of  James  Otis 
and  Samuel  Adams  immediately 
prior  to  the  American  Revolution 
550 


political  Writers  anD  Distorians. 

prepared  the  way  in  New  England 
for  the  eloquence  of  John  Adams, 
the  string  of  resolutions  from  the 
pen  of  Patrick  Henry  meant  more 
to  the  excited  but  hesitating  colo 
nies  than  the  fiery  speech  which  per 
haps  in  its  exact  verbiage  has  nev 
er  been  correctly  reported.  There 
were  no  shorthand  reporters  to 
take  down  the  naming  orations  of 
patriot  orators,  but  reports  were 
made  from  memory  often  long  after 
the  occasion  which  called  forth  the 
effort.  During  the  exciting  period 
preceding  the  Revolution  political 
letters,  newspaper  articles,  and  po 
litical  pamphlets  were  abundant. 
Many  of  these  were  anonymous,  de 
pending  alone  on  arguments  to 
give  them  force,  but  others  were 
signed  by  their  authors,  often  men 
of  the  greatest  prominence. 

An  official  document  of  highest 
importance  which  has  excited  much 
comment  on  account  of  its  resem- 
551 


political  "Gdriters  anfc  tMstorians. 

blance  to  the  Declaration  of  Inde 
pendence  was  the  Mecklenburg 
Declaration  adopted  by  Mecklen 
burg  County,  N.  C,  May  20,  1775, 
more  than  a  year  before  Richard 
Henry  Lee,  of  Virginia,  moved  in 
Congress  to  declare  the  colonies 
free.  The  Mecklenburg  document 
was  not  widely  published  at  the 
time,  hence  there  have  been  histo 
rians  who  denied  its  existence,  but 
hardly  any  such  are  found  after  the 
investigation  of  the  last  few  dec 
ades. 

A  little  earlier  than  Jefferson's 
immortal  paper  was  George  Ma 
son's  Bill  of  Rights.  From  an  ar 
ticle  in  the  Southern  Bivouac  of  Au 
gust,  1885,  the  following  is  taken : 
"May  15,  1776,  a  committee,  in 
cluding  Mr.  Mason,  having  been 
appointed  to  draw  up  a  bill  of  rights 
and  a  constitution  for  the  State  of 
Virginia,  George  Mason,  Mr.  Mad 
ison  declares,  as  if  by  tacit  consent 
552 


political  Writers  an£>  Ibistorians. 

of  the  men  who  formed  that  com 
mittee,  at  once  took  the  lead  and 
drew  up  the  Bill  of  Rights,  which, 
with  immaterial  alterations,  was 
adopted.  He  wa's  also,  continues 
Mr.  Madison,  the  author  and  mas 
ter  builder  of  the  Constitution,  be 
ing  thus  the  main  architect  of  the 
first  form  of  government  perfected 
in  America." 

George  Mason  is  less  known  than 
other  leaders  of  his  time,  but  then 
he  shunned  rather  than  courted  po 
litical  office.  Again  quoting  from 
the  Bivouac:  "The  Bill  of  Rights, 
and  original  Constitution  of  the 
State  of  Virginia  constitute  the  first 
written  form  of  government  ever 
adopted  by  a  free  people.  A  model 
was  thus  presented,  more  or  less 
closely  followed  by  the  other  States, 
and  largely  used  in  the  construc 
tion  of  the  original  form  of  the 
Constitution  of  the  United  States. 
George  Mason,  of  Gunston  Hall, 
18  553 


political  tCirlters  and  tbistorians. 

commonly  known  to  his  contempo 
raries  as  Colonel  Mason,  was  the 
author  of  those  remarkable  papers 
which  were  long  attributed,  even  in 
Virginia,  to  the  pen  of  Mr.  Jeffer 
son.  The  name  and  fame  of  George 
Mason  are  well  known  to  students 
and  scholars,  but  to  the  people  they 
are  almost  unknown. 
George  Mason,  the  statesman,  was 
born  in  Stafford  County,  Va.,  in  the 
year  1725.  He  was  married  on  the 
4th  day  of  April,  1750,  to  Ann  Eil- 
beck,  daughter  of  William  Eilbeck, 
of  Charles  County,  Md.  In  the 
year  1755  he  built  the  mansion  of 
Gunston  Hall,  and  there  estab 
lished  his  home ;  there,  in  the  year 
1790,  he  died  and  was  buried  be 
side  his  wife,  who  had  preceded  him 
to  the  final  rest." 

It  is  perhaps  too  much  to  say 

this  was  the  first  written  form  of 

government  ever  adopted  by  a  free 

people,  as  attention  has  been  called 

554 


political  TuHritcrs  and  Historians. 

to  the  fact  that  New  Hampshire 
adopted  a  written  constitution  six 
months  earlier  and  that  South  Car 
olina  adopted  a  written  constitution 
March  26,  1776,  while  two  days  aft 
er  the  adjournment  of  the  Virginia 
Convention  New  Jersey  adopted 
the  Constitution  which  continued  in 
vogue  until  1844.  This  does  not 
detract  from  the  merits  of  the  Bill 
of  Rights  and  Virginia  Constitu 
tion,  but  shows  that  a  common  im 
pulse  moved  people  widely  scat 
tered — that  the  Constitution  idea 
was  rife  in  the  air,  as  it  were.  Much 
of  this  impulse  is  to  be  traced  in 
origin  to  the  English  revolution  of 
1688  and  the  attendant  resolutions 
in  Parliament.  But  of  the  Virgin 
ian  preeminence  in  these  times  there 
can  be  no  doubt.  Henry  Adams, 
the  New  England  historian,  ranks 
"the  severe  beauty  of  George  Ma 
son's  Virginia  Bill  of  Rights"  with 
Jefferson's  Declaration  of  Inde- 
555 


political  TRUtitetd  an&  Historians. 

pendence  and  the  unrivaled  legal 
opinions  of  Chief  Justice  John  Mar 
shall. 

Prior  to  writing  the  Bill  of  Rights 
Mr.  Mason  had  drawn  up  what  is 
known  as  the  Fairfax  Resolutions. 
These  were  a  dignified  but  earnest 
protest  against  the  aggressions  of 
the  crown  adopted  July  17,  1774,  by 
the  freeholders  of  Fairfax  Coun 
ty  assembled  at  the  courthouse, 
George  Washington  in  the  chair. 
These  resolutions,  according  to 
Mr.  Madison,  became  the  nucleus  of 
the  Declaration,  however,  Mr.  Pen- 
dleton  was  chairman  of  the  com 
mittee  which  brought  forward  the 
resolutions  and  may  have  taken 
part  in  their  authorship.  Mr.  Ma 
son's  home  was  near  that  of  Wash 
ington  and  was  a  sort  of  political 
headquarters  to  which  many  public 
men  came,  Washington  among  the 
number,  until  such  time  as  he  and 
Mason  became  estranged.  At  a 
556 


political  Writers  an&  fbistorians. 

later  period  Washington  was  sup 
posed  to  lean  to  the  federalistic  view 
of  government ;  while  Mr.  M'ason, 
aided  by  his  friend  and  coadjutor, 
Patrick  Henry,  prepared  the  way 
for  the  triumph  of  State  rights 
ideas  in  the  elevation  of  Thomas 
Jefferson  to  the  presidency.  Mr. 
Mason  was  a  member  of  the  Con 
stitutional  Convention  of  1787,  and 
became  the  author,  expounder,  and 
defender  of  the  doctrine  of  State 
rights  within  the  Union.  When 
he  came  to  believe  these  in  danger 
of  absorption  by  the  Federal  Gov 
ernment  under  the  new  Constitu 
tion,  he  withdrew  from  the  Conven 
tion  and  joined  with  Mr.  Henry  in 
opposing  its  adoption  by  the  State 
of  Virginia.  Prior  to  this  time  other 
public  service  of  far-reaching  conse 
quence  had  been  accomplished  by 
this  patriot.  Virginia  originally 
owned  most  of  the  Northwestern 
Territory,  from  which  several  im- 
557 


political  Writers  ano  historians. 

portant  States  have  been  carved.  In 
1781  a  storm  arose  which  threat 
ened  to  ingulf  the  new  nation  in 
civil  war.  Col.  Mason  came  for 
ward  pleading  the  cause  of  harmony, 
and  outlined  the  plan  by  which  this 
territory  was  finally  ceded  to  the 
general  government  and  harmony 
restored.  Though  Mr.  Mason  re 
fused  to  sign  the  Federal  Consti 
tution,  nevertheless  he  was  effective 
in  shaping  certain  portions  of  the 
instrument,  as  for  instance  the 
power  to  coerce  and  punish  a  State 
opposing  its  will,  so  freely  exercised 
by  the  Federal  Government  in  the 
sixties,  was  expressly  left  out  of  the 
Constitution  by  the  influence  of  Col. 
Mason.  In  another  matter  he  failed. 
He  foresaw  the  danger  froni  pres 
idential  patronage,  and  wished  to 
limit  that  official  to  a  single  term  of 
seven  years  with  limited  patronage. 
558 


Gbomas  Jefferson. 

SOME  one  has  said :  ''All  the  tru 
ly  great  thinkers  of  the  world  can 
be  counted  on  the  fingers  of  one 
hand,  but  Thomas  Jefferson  is  one 
of  the  number."  The  Lives  of  Jef 
ferson  are  manifold  and  of  easy  ac 
cess,  hence  this  sketch  will  be  brief, 
but  mention  must  be  made  of  the 
fact  that  his  political  writings — bet 
ter  his  political  philosophy — occupy 
several  volumes.  As  to  Jefferson 
and  the  early  influences  which 
wrought  upon  him,  no  better  ac 
count  can  be  given  than  that  of 
Judge  J.  G.  Baldwin : 

"Thomas  Jefferson  was  born  on 
the  2d  day  of  April,  1703  (O.  S.),  at 
Shadwell,  in  the  county  of  Alber- 
marle,  in  the  State  of  Virginia.  If, 
as  some  suppose,  the  characters  of 
men  are  modified  by  the  physical 
559 


political  Writers  anD  t>iatorian0. 

scenery  around  them  as  they  grow 
up  to  manhood,  Jefferson  was  for 
tunate  in  the  home  of  his  youth ;  for 
it  is  difficult  to  conceive  of  a  land 
scape  more  beautiful  and  romantic 
than  that  which  greeted  his  youth 
ful  vision.  ...  In  his  seven 
teenth  year  Jefferson  was  sent  to 
William  and  Mary  College,  at  that 
time,  and  for  many  years  subse 
quently,  the  most  approved  institu 
tion  of  letters  in  the  State  ;  in  whose 
venerable  halls  so  many  of  the  most 
eminent  sons  of  that  honored  com 
monwealth  were  furnished  forth 
with  the  first  preparation  for  the 
distinguished  parts  they  played  in 
later  life. 

"It  was  in  his  twenty-third  year, 
while  a  student  of  law  at  Williams- 
burg,  under  the  pure  and  learned 
Wythe,  that  Jefferson  heard  Pat 
rick  Henry,  in  the  House  of  Bur 
gesses,  declaiming  against  the 
Stamp  Act.  For  a  young  man  to 
560 


Cbomas  Jefferson. 

hear  Henry  and  to  adopt  his  cause, 
were  the  same  thing;  for  the  great 
orator  spoke  under  the  double  in 
spiration  of  eloquence  and  liberty. 
Henry  was  in  the  prime  of  his  pow 
ers,  and  this  speech  was  one  of  the 
greatest  of  his  life.  The  scene  then 
enacted  was  worthy  of  the  historic 
pencil ;  the  orator,  kindling  with  the 
fire  of  Ezekiel,  and  pouring  forth 
from  his  impassioned  soul,  aflame 
with  liberty,  the  thoughts  so  long 
imprisoned  and  burning  for  utter 
ance  in  the  solitude  of  the  forest; 
quelling  opposition ;  cowing  the 
bold  by  greater  boldness ;  inspirit 
ing  the  timid;  and  pleading  the 
cause  of  his  countrymen  with  a 
rapt  enthusiasm  akin  to  inspiration ; 
his  voice  swelling  out  its  thunder 
tones,  his  form  dilated,  and  his 
countenance  transfigured.  And 
then  the  young  auditor  in  the  lobby, 
strangely  thrilling  and  carried  away 
captive  by  the  new  influence  throb- 
561 


political  Writers  an&  historians. 

bing  in  his  heart  and  firing  his 
brain ;  that  stranger,  a  rude,  unfash- 
ioned  youth  then,  but  predestinated 
to  be,  and  receiving  then  the  im 
pulse  which  was  to  make  him  one 
of  the  most  effective  of  all  the 
champions  of  freedom  in  the  world. 
It  is  barely  too  extravagant  a  figure 
to  say  that  the  neophyte  votary  was 
thus  baptized  to  liberty  in  the  fire 
and  the  flood  of  Henry's  eloquence. 
We  pass  rapidly  over  other  pas 
sages  in  the  life  of  Jefferson ;  his 
election,  in  1769,  by  the  people  of 
his  county  to  a  seat  in  the  Legisla 
ture,  which  he  held  to  the  time  of 
the  revolution,  and  signalized  by 
his  unsuccessful  proposition  for  the 
emancipation  of  the  slaves  of  the 
State ;  his  appointment  as  member 
of  the  Correspondence  Committee 
established  by  the  colonial  Legis 
lature;  his  address  to  the  king,  in 
1774,  so  commended  by  Burke,  vin- 
562 


ttbomas  3effet0on. 

dicating  the  claims  of  the  colonies ; 
and  his  election,  in  1775,  as  one  of 
the  delegates  of  Virginia  to  the  Con 
tinental  Congress.  And  now  dis 
content  had  grown  into  agitation, 
and  agitation  had  passed  to  the 
verge  of  revolution.  The  colonies 
were  ripe  for  open  revolt;  indeed, 
the  field  had  been  taken  in  Massa 
chusetts,  and  the  first  blood  of  the 
war  shed.  Mighty  events  were  on 
the  wing.  The  country  stood  still 
and  silent,  as  men  stand  on  the  eve 
of  a  great  explosion.  The  crisis  had 
come  when  the  work  of  a  moment 
controls  the  events  of  centuries,  and 
tells  the  destiny  of  millions.  The 
crisis  was  boldly  met,  and  the  ven 
ture  boldly  taken.  It  fell  to  the  task 
of  Jefferson  to  announce  the  deci 
sion  to  the  world,  and  to  appeal  to 
that  world  in  vindication  of  its  jus 
tice.  No  hope  was  left  of  concilia 
tion,  and  no  chance  of  retreat ;  and 
the  Declaration  rang  out  its  burn- 
563 


political  Writers  anfc  fMstorians. 

ing  word  of  defiance  and  resolute 
resistance.  The  country  answered 
back  with  shouts  and  huzzas." 

While  Jefferson  was  at  antipodes 
totheFederalistic  ideas  of  Hamilton, 
and  more  than  any  other  was  father 
to  the  political  system  of  the  rule 
of  the  people  by  the  people  them 
selves,  and  gave  his  pen  untiringly 
to  its  promulgation  and  his  influ 
ence  to  its  enforcement,  yet  the 
great  master  piece  of  his  production 
was  the  Declaration  of  Independ 
ence.  While  it  breathes  forth  the 
aroma  of  liberty  astir  in  the  air  at 
the  time,  it  nevertheless  is  instinct 
with  the  personality  of  Jefferson. 
More  than  this,  its  portents,  like  the 
messages  of  the  old  prophets,  were 
for  the  ages  beyond  the  dreams  of 
him  who  gave  it  utterance.  Many 
things  led  to  the  state  of  public  feel 
ing  which  gave  birth  to  the  Dec 
laration,  Tom  Paine's  "Common 
Sense"  having  been  one  of  the  agents 
564 


Cbomas  Jefferson. 

in  stirring  the  minds  of  the. people. 
But  among  the  most  cogent  reasons 
for  taking  the  step  was  the  fact  that, 
for  many  of  the  colonies,  Henry's 
alternative  liberty  or  death  was  in 
evitable.  Morse,  in  his  "Thomas 
Jefferson,"  says : 

"It  was  time  to  transmute  him 
from  a  rebel  into  a  foreigner. 
Nor  had  the  members  of  Con 
gress  any  chance  of  escaping  the 
hangman's  rope  unless  this  al 
teration  could  be  accomplished  for 
all  the  colonists.  For  all  prominent 
men,  alike  in  military  and  in  civil 
life,  it  was  now  independence  o^  de 
struction. 

"Virginia  instructed  her  delegates 
to  move  that  Congress  should  de 
clare  'the  United  Colonies  free  and 
independent  States,'  and  on  June  7 
Richard  Henry  Lee  offered  resolu 
tions  accordingly.  In  debate  upon 
these  on  June  8  and  10,  it  appeared, 
says  Jefferson,  that  certain  of  the 
B  565 


political  Writers  anO  t>istorfans. 

colonies  'were  not  yet  matured  for 
falling  from  the  parent  stem,  but 
that  they  were  fast  advancing  to 
that  state.'  To  give  the  laggards 
time  to  catch  up  with  the  vanguard, 
further  discussion  was  postponed 
until  July  i.  But  to  prevent  loss  of 
time  when  debate  should  be  re 
sumed,  Congress,  on  June  n,  ap 
pointed  a  committee  charged  to  pre 
pare  a  Declaration  of  Independence, 
so  that  it  might  be  ready  at  once 
when  it  should  be  wanted.  The 
members,  in  the  order  of  choice  by 
ballot,  were :  Thomas  Jefferson, 
John  Adams,  Benjamin  Franklin, 
Roger  Sherman,  and  Robert  R. 
Livingstone.  For  the  last  hundred 
years  one  of  the  first  facts  taught  to 
any  child  of  American  birth  is,  that 
Jefferson  wrote  the  Declaration  of 
Independence.  The  original  draft 
shows  two  or  three  trifling  altera 
tions,  interlined  in  the  handwritings 
of  Franklin  and  Adams.  Otherwise 
566 


Cbomas  Jefferson. 

it  came  before  Congress  precisely 
as  Jefferson  wrote  it.  Many  years 
afterwards  John  Adams  gave  an  ac 
count  of  the  way  in  which  Jefferson 
came  to  be  the  composer  of  this 
momentous  document,  differing 
slightly  from  the  story  told  by  Jef 
ferson.  But  the  variance  is  imma 
terial,  hardly  greater  than  any  expe 
rienced  lawyer  would  expect  to  find 
between  the  testimony  of  two  hon 
est  witnesses  to  any  transaction, 
especially  when  given  after  the  lapse 
of  many  years,  and  when  one  at 
least  had  no  memoranda  for  refresh 
ing  his  memory.  Jefferson's  state 
ment  seems  the  better  entitled  to 
credit,  and  what  little  corroboration 
is  to  be  obtained  for  either  narrator 
is  wholly  in  his  favor.  He  says  sim 
ply  that  when  the  committee  came 
together  he  was  pressed  by  his  col 
leagues  unanimously  to  undertake 
the  draft ;  that  he  did  so ;  that,  when 
he  had  prepared  it,  he  submitted  it 
567 


political  Writers  an£>  Distcrians. 

to  Dr.  Franklin  and  Mr.  A  darns, 
separately,  requesting  their  correc 
tions,  'which  were  two  or  three 
only,  and  merely  verbal/  'interlined 
in  their  own  handwritings;'  that 
the  report  in  this  shape  was  adopted 
by  the  committee,  and  a  'fair  copy/ 
written  out  by  Mr.  Jefferson,  was 
then  laid  before  Congress." 

As  to  how  Jefferson  came  to  write 
the  Declaration  there  has  been 
much  discussion.  He  had  previ 
ously  drawn  up  two  papers  in  com 
mittee,  one  of  which  was  accepted 
without  change,  the  other  being  re 
written  by  another  hand.  In  re 
gard  to  the  choice  of  Jefferson  for 
the  honor,  Morse  says :  "A  some 
what  more  interesting  discussion 
concerns  the  question,  how  Jeffer 
son  came  to  be  named  first  on  the 
committee,  to  the  entire  exclusion 
of  Lee,  to  whom,  as  mover  of  the 
resolution,  parliamentary  etiquette 
would  have  assigned  the  chairman- 
568 


ftbomas  Jefferson, 

ship.  Many  explanations  have  been 
given,  of  which  some  at  least  appear 
the  outgrowth  of  personal  likings 
and  dislikings.  It  is  certain  that 
Jefferson  was  not  only  preeminently 
fitted  for  the  very  difficult  task  of 
this  peculiar  composition,  but  also 
that  he  was  a  man  without  an  ene 
my.  His  abstinence  from  any  ac 
tive  share  in  debate  had  saved  him 
from  giving  irritation ;  and  it  is  a 
truth  not  to  be  concealed,  that  there 
were  cabals,  bickerings,  heart 
burnings,  perhaps  actual  enmities,, 
among  the  members  of  that  famous 
body,  which,  grandly  as  it  looms  up, 
and  rightly  too,  in  the  mind's  eye, 
was  after  all  composed  of  jarring 
human  ingredients.  It  was  well  be 
lieved  that  there  was  a  faction  op 
posed  to  Washington,  and  it  was 
generally  suspected  that  irascible, 
vain,  and  jealous  John  Adams,  then 
just  rising  from  the  ranks  of  the 
people,  made  in  this  matter  com- 
19  569 


political  Writers  an&  tbistorians. 

mon  cause  with  the  aristocratic  Vir 
ginian  Lees  against  their  fellow- 
countryman.  Adams  frankly  says 
that  he  himself  was  very  unpopu 
lar;  and  therefore  it  did  not  help 
Lee  to  be  his  friend.  Furthermore, 
the  anti-Washingtonians  were  rath 
er  a  clique  or  faction  than  a  party, 
and  were  greatly  outnumbered. 
Jay,  too,  had  his  little  private  pique 
against  Lee.  So  it  is  likely  enough 
that  a  timely  illness  of  Lee's  wife 
was  a  fortunate  excuse  for  passing 
him  by,  and  that  partly  by  reason  of 
admitted  aptitude,  partly  because 
no  risk  could  be  run  of  any  inter 
ference  of  personal  feelings  in  so 
weighty  a  matter,  Jefferson  was 
placed  first  on  the  committee,  with 
the  natural  result  of  doing  the  bulk 
of  its  labor." 

This  Declaration  was  not  meant, 

as  Mr.  Jefferson  says,  "to   invent 

new  ideas  altogether,  and  to  offer 

no  sentiment  which  had  ever  been 

570 


{Ebomas  Jefferson. 

expressed  before."  It  was  merely 
to  clothe  in  befitting  language  the 
principles  which  had  been  agreed 
upon,  and  for  which  patriots  were 
willing  to  offer  their  lives,  hence 
any  discussion  as  to  originality  is 
puerile.  After  all  it  was  a  thrilling 
message  to  mankind  expressed  in 
lofty  utterance,  and  ought  to  be 
read  in  public  assembly  in  every 
community  each  succeeding  Fourth 
of  July.  Jefferson's  "Notes  on  Vir 
ginia"  showed  his  eagerness  to  have 
his  commonwealth  properly  pre 
sented  to  mankind.  His  letters  fill 
several  volumes,  and  his  polit 
ical  documents  have  long  formed 
a  groundwork  of  principles  for  the 
great  party  first  called  Republican, 
later  Democratic. 
571 


3ame0 


MR.  MADISON  is  called  "the  fa 
ther  of  the  Constitution."  The 
Convention  which  met  in  May, 
1787,  was  called  together  rather  to 
repair  the  Articles  of  Confederation 
than  to  adopt  a  new  instrument. 
This  was  soon  found  to  be  impos 
sible,  and  discord  arose,  which,  for 
a  time,  threatened  to  rend  the  body 
and  even  the  nation  asunder. 

A  paper  had  been  written  by 
James  Madison  prior  to  the  meet 
ing  of  the  Constitutional  Conven 
tion,  and  laid  before  his  colleagues 
from  Virginia.  This  was  made  the 
basis  of  the  Virginia  plan,  and  out 
of  this  was  evolved  the  Consti 
tution.  In  addition  to  being  the 
architect  of  the  plan,  he  was  the  au 
thor  of  the  larger  part  of  its  details. 
Then  no  man  did  more  to  prepare 
572 


James 


the  public  mind  to  receive  the  in 
strument.  Madison  as  a  joint  con 
tributor  with  Hamilton  and  Jay  to 
the  collection  of  papers  called  the 
Federalist,  was  designated  the  fa 
ther  of  the  Federalist  party,  how 
ever  much  he  may  have  differed 
from  some  of  their  opinions  at  a 
later  period.  In  fact,  so  well  did 
he  and  Jefferson  agree,  during 
the  Presidency  of  Madison,  that  a 
friendly  correspondence  was  con 
strued  by  enemies  into  an  attempt 
on  the  part  of  the  ex-President  to 
influence  his  successor  in  office. 
573 


<5eor0e  TCHasbington. 

WHILE  the  letters,  messages,  and 
various  documents  written  by  the 
father  of  his  country  occupy  sev 
eral  volumes,  his  theories,  hopes, 
and  fears  as  to  the  conduct  and 
safety  of  his  country  are  embodied 
in  his  Farewell  Address.  Its  ad 
monitions  come  to  us  with  peculiar 
force  in  these  days  when  there  is  a 
tendency  on  the  part  of  many  of  the 
people  to  break  away  from  the  well- 
established  policy  of  the  nation  as 
pursued  by  the  fathers,  and  enter 
upon  a  political  arena  hitherto  un- 
trod  by  the  republic.  Many  ques 
tions  have  arisen  as  to  how  much  of 
this  address  was  based  on  Wash 
ington's  notes,  how  much  came 
from  the  hand  of  Hamilton,  and 
what  is  due  to  the  finishing  touches 
of  Madison,  but  the  Farewell  Ad- 
574 


<3eor0e  Wasbington. 

dress  is  truly  Washington's,  as  it 
speaks  his  sentiments  and  breathes 
his  spirit. 

The  messages  and  other  state 
papers  of  Washington  are  of  vast 
importance,  as  showing  many  of  the 
steps  taken  in  giving  the  infant  gov 
ernment  its  present  shape.  Many 
of  these  papers  dealt  with  questions 
new  in  the  science  of  government. 

More  than  any  other,  Chief  Jus 
tice  John  Marshall,  of  Virginia, 
served  to  fix  the  meaning  of  the 
new  Constitution.  He  was  appoint 
ed  by  President  Adams  in  1800,  and 
during  the  succeeding  thirty-five 
years  rendered  decisions  sufficient 
to  fill  thirty  volumes.  Many  of 
these  were  upon  constitutional 
questions,  and  continue  to  be  cited 
as  the  highest  authority.  Judge 
Marshall  had  served  in  the  army 
and  in  many  of  the  most  important 
civil  offices,  including  that  of  joint 
envoy  to  France  with  Mr.  Pinck- 
575 


political  mrttera  anD  "fctetodans. 

ney  and  Mr.  Gerry.  He  was  a 
member  of  the  Virginia  State  Con 
vention,  which  ratified  the  Consti 
tution  by  a  vote  of  eighty-nine  to 
seventy-nine.  Mr.  Marshall  took 
prominent  part  in  the  proceedings, 
generally  answering  Patrick  Hen 
ry's  objections.  Among  the  master 
pieces  of  American  biography  will 
ever  remain  Marshall's  "Life  of 
Washington,"  which  is  also  en 
riched  by  the  author's  view  on 
questions  of  public  importance.  He 
is  reported  to  have  said  that  if  he 
were  worthy  of  a  monument,  it 
would  be  found  in  his  judicial  de 
cisions. 

576 


3obn  Calfcwell  Calboun. 

JOHN  CALDWELL  CALHOUN  was 
born  March  18,  1782,  in  Abbeville 
District,  South  Carolina.  He  grad 
uated  at  Yale  in  1804,  having  raised 
great  expectations  by  his  brilliancy 
in  College.  He  read  law  and  be 
gan  the  practice,  but  in  the  stirring 
political  times  a  man  of  Calhoun's 
talents  could  hardly  have  escaped 
the  call  of  his  country.  In  his  ear 
lier  political  views  he  agreed  with 
Clay,  both  being  strong  advocates 
and  promoters  of  the  war  of  1812. 
Midway  between  the  extreme  fed 
eralism  of  Hamilton  and  the  ex 
treme  State  rights  views  of  George 
Mason  and  of  Thomas  Jefferson,  as 
expressed  in  his  draft  of  the  cele 
brated  Kentucky  resolutions,  stood 
Clay  and  Webster  with  the  ad 
herents  of  the  great  Whig  party. 
577 


political  Writers  anO  Tbistocians. 

This,  as  led  by  Mr.  Clay,  aimed  to 
preserve  the  Union  by  mutual  con 
cession  and  compromise  rather  than 
coercion. 

As  the  abolition  party  of  the  East 
grew  in  numbers  and  power,  ap 
pealing  to  higher  law  as  superior 
to  the  Constitution,  the  Southern 
States  came  more  and  more  to  see 
the  need  of  a  strict  construction 
of  the  Constitution.  Chief  Justice 
Marshall  had  fixed  the  status  of 
that  instrument  as  being  beyond 
the  reach  of  legislative  enactment. 
Gradually  Mr.  Calhoun  became  the 
leader  of  those  who  held  that  the 
Constitution  is  a  full  and  final  chart 
in  matters  of  government.  Great  as 
was  the  variance  between  Jackson 
and  Clay,  they  agreed  on  one  vital 
point :  the  Union  must  be  preserved. 
This  was  shown  in  Jackson's  at 
titude  toward  the  Nullification  Act 
of  South  Carolina,  and  in  the 
speeches  of  Clay,  which  proved  po- 
578 


Jobn  CalDwell  Calboun. 

tent  enough  to  hold  the  Northern 
States  of  the  Confederacy  of  1861, 
so  long  trembling  in  a  state  of  in 
decision. 

Those  who  held  that  the  union 
of  States  was  a  partnership  from 
which  any  and  all  members  of  the 
partnership  might  voluntarily  and 
peaceably  withdraw  were  not  those 
who  were  least  concerned  about  the 
perpetuity  of  the  Union.  On  the 
contrary,  the  power  supposed  to  be 
inherent  in  the  State  to  nullify  or 
declare  void,  in  the  case  of  that 
State,  unjust  or  unconstitutional 
acts  of  the  general  government  was 
supposed  to  be  necessary  to  the  con 
tinuance  of  that  government.  A 
member  of  the  firm  might  refuse  to 
be  bound  by  the  act  of  the  other 
members  without  dissolving  the 
firm — such  nullification  act  merely 
meant  that  there  must  be  a  tempo 
rary  arrest  of  proceeding — a  pause 
to  settle  the  difference,  nothing 
579 


political  Writers  and  1>tstortans, 

more.  John  C.  Calhoun  was  an  ar 
dent  Unionist,  but  greatly  feared 
the  result  of  Northern  agitation, 
hence  with  his  ability  of  leadership 
and  knowledge  of  constitutional 
law  he  became  the  leading  expos 
itor  of  the  Constitution  from  the 
standpoint  of  his  school,  which  held 
that  nullification  might  be  necessa 
ry  in  some  cases  in  order  to  pre 
vent  revolution.  The  Kentucky 
resolutions  of  1798  was  a  declara 
tion  as  expressive  as  anything  Cal 
houn  ever  taught,  but  the  touch 
stone  came  when  Calhoun's  native 
State  attempted  to  act  upon  the  the 
ory  so  long  held  by  some  of  the 
master  spirits  of  the  republic. 

The  determined  attitude  of  Pres 
ident  Jackson  toward  South  Caro 
lina  on  the  passage  of  the  Nullifi 
cation  Act  was  not  unexpected  by 
those  who  knew  that  the  Union  sen 
timents  inculcated  by  Clay  and 
Jackson  through  all  their  public  ca- 
580 


Cal&well  Calboun. 

reer  had  made  it  impossible  for  the 
schemes  of  a  Burr  to  find  counte 
nance  west  of  the  Allegehanies,  yet 
that  attitude  more  than  all  things 
else  led  to  the  spread  of  sentiments 
favorable  to  secession  as  the  final 
remedy  for  evils  which  seemed  in 
evitably  connected  with  the  rapid 
settlement  of  the  great  Northwest 
and  the  rapid  growth  of  Northern 
cities,  with  the  consequent  certain 
ty  of  the  loss  of  prestige  and  power 
of  self-protection  on  the  part  of  the 
South.  The  Constitution  guaran 
teed  slavery.  More  and  more  did 
the  idea  prevail  in  the  North  that 
slavery  must  be  abolished,  Consti 
tution  or  no  Constitution.  In  the 
South  the  feeling  rapidly  grew  that 
if  there  was  not  security  under  the 
Constitution  at  one  point  there 
could  hardly  be  at  any,  hence  overt 
acts  on  the  part  of  those  who  dis 
regarded  the  Constitution  and  held 
to  the  "higher  law"  might  make  it 
C  581 


political  Writers  and  tbtstorians. 

necessary  to  withdraw  from  a  Union 
in  which  their  rights  were  no  longer 
secure. 

Many   doubted   the   expediency, 
but  few  the  right  of  withdrawing 
from  the  national  compact.    A  be 
lief  in  this  right  was  as  old  as  the 
government,  but  the  discussions  fill 
many  volumes  of  the  political  liter 
ature  from  the  days  of  the  Hartford 
Convention  until  the  close  of  the 
reconstruction     period.      Calhoun 
was  in  no  sense  the  awthor  of  seces 
sion  or  even  nullification,  but  his 
voluminous  exposition  of  the  rela 
tion  of  the  States  to  the  federal  Un 
ion  as  expressed  in  the  Constitu 
tion  became,  as  it  were,  a  text-book 
of  Southern  statesmen  for  quite  a 
period   prior   to    1861,    even    such 
conservatives     as     Alexander     H. 
Stephens    holding    tenaciously    to 
the  partnership  theory  of  govern 
ment,  in  which  the  States  were  free 
to  continue  or  to  withdraw. 
582 


Historical  IHHrtters. 

TTME  must  give  the  perspective 
which  is  necessary  to  produce  the 
historian,  hence  there  were  few  his 
torical  writers  in  America  prior  to 
the  civil  war.  Since  that  period 
the  absence  of  great  libraries  con 
taining  original  sources  of  informa 
tion  would  have  hampered  South 
ern  effort  in  this  direction  even  in 
the  absence  of  other  hindrances. 
However,  as  gatherers  of  material 
for  the  historian  who  shall  arise 
when  the  mists  of  prejudice  and  the 
clouds  of  passion  shall  have  been 
blown  away  by  the  wind  of  time, 
some  have  done  important  work. 
In  almost  every  Southern  State  is 
to  be  found  the  work  of  patient  and 
patriotic  investigators.  Many  of 
these  have  preserved  material  which 
583 


political  Tiddlers  an&  'Ibistorians. 

would  otherwise  have  been  lost  for 
ever. 

Historians  have  not  yet  given  full 
credit  to  the  work  of  CAPT.  JOHN 
SMITH,  a  maker  as  well  as  a  writer 
of  history.    This  work  has  been  no 
ticed,  however  inadequately,  in  the 
earlier  part  of  this  series.     On  the 
writings  of  Smith  is  based  the  ear 
lier  history  of  Virginia  as  set  forth 
by  Stith  and  others  in  the  histories 
of  Virginia.     Other  writers  a  little 
later  than   Capt.   Smith   continued 
the  accounts  of  the  early  settlers. 
Robert  Beverly,  Col.  William  Byrd, 
and  many  others  have  given  lively 
accounts  of  various  periods  of  Vir 
ginia  history.     South  Carolina  had 
as    historians    David    Ramsey,    of 
more  than  local  fame,  as  well  as 
William  Gilmore  Simms,  in  his  "His 
tory  of  South  Carolina."    Louisiana 
had  Judge   Gayarre,  as  well  as  a 
number  of  less  known  chroniclers. 
However,  Charles  Campbell  is  not 
584 


Ibistottcal  tdtitcrs. 

to  be  included  in  these  last,  as  his 
is  perhaps  the  most  satisfactory 
presentation  of  early  Virginia  his 
tory  extant.  Few  men  have  done 
for  a  State  what  has  been  accom 
plished  for  Georgia  by  Charles  Col- 
cock  Jones,  Jr. 

Ramsey's  "Annals  of  Tennes 
see,"  French's  "L  o  u  i  s  i  a  n  a," 
Hawk's  "North  Carolina,"  and 
some  others  are  rather  collections 
of  historical  material  and  docu 
ments  than  attempts  to  weave  facts 
into  entertaining  narrative.  Among 
local  works  rising  to  the  dignity  of 
histories  of  more  than  local  merit 
may  be  mentioned  Humphrey  Mar 
shall's  "History  of  Kentucky"  in 
two  volumes;  Albert  James  Picl£- 
ett's  "History  of  Alabama,"  and  in 
cidentally  of  Georgia  and  Missis 
sippi,  from  the  "Earliest  Period," 
which  is  a  spirited  narrative  in  two 
volumes  concerning  what  is  includ 
ed  in  the  title.  William  Bacon  Ste- 
20  585 


political  Writers  anD  iJistorians. 

vens's  "History  of  Georgia"  is  rated 
one  of  the  best  of  State  histories. 
The  same  meed  of  praise  may  safe 
ly  be  given  Robert  R.  Howison's 
"History  of  Virginia ;"  while 
Simms's  "History  of  South  Caroli 
na,"  with  its  beautiful  literary  style, 
has  one  fault :  brevity.  One  of  the 
most  important  historical  works  of 
the  South  is  David  Ramsey's  "His 
tory  of  the  American  Revolution" 
in  three  volumes.  Add  to  this  "The 
War  in  the  South,"  by  Light-Horse 
Harry  Lee,  and  the  revolutionary 
period  of  American  history  is  well 
set  forth.  Of  the  names  which  will 
continue  to  live  as  historians,  per 
haps  more  particular  notice  may  be 
given  David  Ramsey,  C.  C.  Jones, 
and  Charles  E.  Gayerre. 

DAVID  RAMSEY  was  born  in 
Pennsylvania  in  1799,  was  educated 
at  Princeton,  studied  medicine  at 
the  University  of  Pennsylvania,  and 
removed  to  Charleston,  S.  C.,  to 
586 


•fctetortcal  UCHtftets. 

practice  medicine.  He  was  cele 
brated  as  a  patriot  as  well  as  a  writ 
er  of  more  than  ordinary  ability. 
In  addition  to  the  two  historical 
works  already  mentioned,  he  wrote 
a  Life  of  Washington,  Universal 
History,  as  well  as  a  number  of  mis 
cellaneous  works. 

CHARLES  COLCOCK  JONES,  JR., 
was  born  at  Savannah  in  1831,  and 
gave  a  large  part  of  his  life  to  the 
study  of  the  history  of  Georgia  and 
the  Indian  tribes  of  the  South.  His 
history  of  Georgia  in  two  octavo  vol 
umes  is  the  most  exhaustive  of  any 
Southern  colonial  history.  Several 
volumes  devoted  to  Indian  topics 
came  from  his  pen,  as  well  as  sev 
eral  biographies  of  great  impor 
tance.  In  addition  he  was  one  of 
the  writers  selected  by  Justin  Wind 
sor  to  make  contributions  to  his 
great  work,  "Narrative  and  Critical 
History  of  the  United  States." 
Col.  Jones  was  a  Confederate  sol- 
587 


political  TKHriters  and  IMstorfans. 

dier,  and  has  left  a  number  of  pa 
pers  and  addresses  devoted  to  that 
subject.  He  died  in  1893,  at  a  time 
when  greater  things  seemed  pos 
sible  to  one  so  thoroughly  well 
equipped  for  the  work  which  lay 
near  his  heart. 

For  all  time  the  one  who  would 
learn  of  the  French  and  Spanish  oc 
cupation  of  the  Mississippi  Valley 
must  study  the  historical  works  of 
CHARLES  E.  GAYARRE.  C.  K. 
Adams,  in  his  "Manual  of  Histor 
ical  Literature,"  gives  high  praise 
to  the  "History  of  Louisiana,"  at 
first  in  five  volumes,  afterwards  in 
four,  by  Judge  Gayarre.  Charles 
Gayarre,  as  he  usually  signed  him 
self,  was  born  in  New  Orleans  Jan 
uary  9,  1805.  He  had  passed  his 
ninetieth  birthday  when  he  passed 
away.  His  was  purest  strain  of 
Creole  blood,  hence  he  was  much 
aggrieved  by  Mr.  Cable  and  those 
who,  as  he  thought,  aspersed  his 
588 


•historical 


people.  He  was  educated  in  New 
Orleans,  but  studied  law  and  was 
admitted  to  the  bar  in  Phila 
delphia.  In  1820  he  was  admitted 
to  the  bar  in  Louisiana,  of  which 
he  was  probably  the  oldest  member 
at  the  time  of  his  death.  Literature 
began  from  the  first  to  decoy  him 
from  the  sterner  mistress.  An  es 
say  on  the  history  of  Louisiana 
written  in  French  soon  attracted  at 
tention.  From  the  first  his  native 
State  heaped  honors  upon  him. 
Repeatedly  was  he  a  member  of  the 
Legislature,  then  Attorney-Gen 
eral,  Judge,  Secretary  o'f  State,  and 
finally,  in  1835,  he  was  elected  to 
the  Senate  of  the  United  States. 
His  health  having  become  impaired, 
he  resigned,  and  went  abroad  for 
eight  years.  In  1867  he  came  with 
in  a  few  votes  of  being  reflected  to 
the  same  office.  In  1873  he  was  ap 
pointed  Reporter  of  Decisions  of 
the  Supreme  Court,  and  published 
589 


political  "earners  anD  Historians. 

four  volumes  of  the  reports.  His 
functions  ceased  with  a  change  of 
administration.  This  was  his  last 
public  office.  As  a  member  of  the 
Legislature  his  services  were  in 
many  ways  of  lasting  benefit  to  the 
State.  Such  offices  as  he  held  came 
mainly  without  his  seeking.  At  one 
time  he  might  have  had  the  nomi 
nation  for  Governor  by  asking  for 
it.  Through  all  these  years  he  was 
preeminently  a  literary  man.  Prof. 
Fortier  speaks  of  Judge  Gayarre  as 
one  "whose  name  is  to  be  seen  on 
every  page  of  the  history  of  literature 
in  Louisiana.  Paul  H.  Hayne  tells 
us  that  he  was  the  author  of  up 
ward  of  twoscore  volumes,  count 
ing  some  addresses  and  unbound 
brochures.  We  can  hardly  under 
stand  how  there  could  have  been  a 
world  within  a  world,  how  in  New 
Orleans  there  could  have  been  a 
people  distinct  in  language,  culture, 
and  literature.  But  such  was  the 
590 


•fcisterical  TEdtitere. 

case,  and  we  realize  it  if  we  look 
through  a  bookstore  in  the  French 
portion  of  the  city.  French  is  yet 
spoken  by  many,  and  the  laws  are 
published  in  both  French  and  Eng 
lish,  but  before  the  war  papers  and 
periodicals  published  in  French 
were  very  numerous.  Gayarre  was 
master  of  both  languages,  and  be 
gan  his  literary  career  in  French, 
but  felt  the  conquering  force  of 
English,  and  did  his  best  work  for 
an  increasing  instead  of  a  diminish 
ing  audience.  His  most  notable 
work  was  the  "History  of  Louis 
iana,"  in  four  handsome  volumes. 
Of  this  work  George  Bancroft 
wrote  to  him :  "I  have  for  many 
years  been  making  manuscript  and 
other  collections,  and  all  the  best 
that  I  have  found  appears  in  your 
volumes."  As  early  as  1846  Gay 
arre  published  a  "History  of  Louis 
iana  in  French."  He  continued  his 
researches  until  1885,  when  his 
591 


political  Writers  an£>  HMstorians. 

four  volumes  in  English  appeared. 
During  his  eight  years'  stay  in 
France  and  Europe,  he  had  gath 
ered  much  original  material.  He 
was  in  position  to  have  access 
to  all  possible  sources  of  infor 
mation  at  home.  In  his  public 
administration  he  was  practically 
the  father  of  the  Louisiana  State 
library.  From  various  records  the 
historian  wove  a  wondrous  story. 
De  Soto,  LaSalle,  Bienville,  John 
Law,  Gen.  Jackson,  Lafitte,  live 
again.  As  next  in  rank  of  his  works-, 
comes  "Phillip  II.  of  Spain."  This 
has  an  introduction  by  Bancroft,  in 
which  America's  greatest  historian 
commends  in  strong  terms  the  pro 
duction  of  his  brother  historian. 
The  list  of  Gayarre's  writings  is  far 
too  long  to  mention  all.  In  addi 
tion  to  the  publication  of  several 
volumes  of  history,  biography,  and 
romance,  he  published  in  various 
magazines  numbers  of  historical 
592 


•fcistorical  imrfters. 

and  literary  papers.  One  of  the 
most  notable  efforts,  and  one 
among  his  last,  is  "The  Creoles  of 
History"  and  "The  Creoles  of  Ro 
mance."  This  is  a  review  of  Mr. 
Cable's  presentation  of  the  Cre 
oles,  especially  in  "The  Grandis- 
sirnes"  and  the  Encyclopedia  Bri- 
tannica.  At  the  close  of  that  ad 
dress  he  says  that  he  "washes  his 
hands  of  Mr.  Cable." 

"Thirty  years  in  the  United 
States  Senate,"  by  Thomas  H. 
Benton,  of  Tennessee  and  Mis 
souri,  will  ever  remain  a  valuable 
compendium  of  political  informa 
tion.  The  scope  of  this  work  for 
bids  a  review  of  writings  pertaining 
to  the  civil  war,  but  to  those  inter 
ested  in  the  political  questions  per- 
tajining  to  that  war  the  authorities 
upon  the  subject  from  the  Southern 
point  of  view  will  no  doubt  continue 
to  be  the  writings  and  speeches  of 
Jefferson  Davis,  Alexander  H. 
593 


political  Writers  anD  Historians. 

Stephens,  Albert  T.  Bledsoe.  All 
these  are  too  well  known  to  require 
further  mention  in  a  work  of  this 
scope.  Many  of  those  connected 
with  the  war  have  set  forth  their 
personal  experiences,  and  it  is  to  be 
hoped  this  will  continue,  for  in  no 
other  way  can  material  be  collected 
for  that  fuller  and  fairer  history 
which  is  inevitable.  No  South 
erner  has  attempted  a  history  of  the 
United  States  in  extenso.  However, 
the  earlier  period  has  been  covered 
by  Mr.  George  Tucker,  of  Virginia, 
in  a  work  of  four  meritorious  vol 
umes.  Biography  seldom  rises  to 
the  dignity  of  literature;  if  so,  the 
South  would  abound  in  literature, 
if  the  number  of  volumes  produced 
should  be  the  criterion.  However, 
most  of  these  have  been  written  in 
a  slipshod  way  by  too  partial  admir 
ers,  with  little  regard  to  literary 
style,  and  often  less  regard  for  such 
facts  as  require  painstaking  and  re- 
594 


•fcistoricat  TKHtiters. 

search.  As  to  literary  style,  notable 
exceptions  are  found  in  the  "Life 
of  Washington,"  by  "Parson 
Weems,"  and  the  "Life  of  Patrick 
Henry/'  by  William  Wirt.  In  both 
cases  the  line  between  the  assuredly 
veritable  and  the  apocryphal  is  dif 
ficult  to  locate — it  is  not  absolutely 
certain  that  the  man  "first  in  war, 
first  in  peace,  first  in  the  hearts  of 
his  countrymen,"  ever  owned  a 
hatchet,  nor  can  it  now  be  ascer 
tained  how  much  of  the  great  "lib 
erty  or  death"  speech  fell  from  the 
lips  of  Patrick  Henry,  and  how 
much  from  the  facile  and  eloquent 
pen  of  Mr.  Wirt.  Nevertheless 
both  are  true  pictures  of  the  great 
characters  represented,  and  only  an 
iconoclast  could  wish  to  see  a  line 
of  either  work  erased.  Thousands 
have  read  both  with  profit  and  de 
light.  Both  are  gems  of  literature. 

MASON  LOCKE  WEEMS  was  born 
at  Dumfries,  Va.,  1760,  and  was  ed- 
595 


political  Writers  anD  f)istorfans, 

ucated  in  London  as  a  clergyman. 
He  was  for  some  years  rector  of 
Pohick  Church,  Mt.  Vernon  Par 
ish,  of  which  Washington  was  an 
attendant.  It  is  said  that  he  was 
equally  ready  to  speak,  preach,  or 
play  the  violin,  and  was  humorous 
and  interesting  in  conversation. 
His  "Life  of  Washington"  has  been 
extremely  popular.  To  him  alone 
we  are  indebted  for  the  hatchet 
story.  He  was  author  of  the  "Life 
of  Marion"  and  other  works. 

Hardly  any  work  in  America  has 
equaled  in  grace  and  beauty  of  style 
Wirt's  "Life  of  Patrick  Henry." 
Of  Wirt,  Hart,  in  "American  Liter 
ature,"  says :  "WILLIAM  WIRT  was 
born  at  Bladenburg,  Md.,  and  lost 
both  his  parents  (one  Swiss  and  the 
other  German)  before  he  was  eight 
years  old.  Through  the  kindness 
of  friends  and  his  own  exertions, 
however,  he  managed  to  get  an  ed 
ucation,  and  was  admitted  to  the 
596 


•Bbistorfcal  TJQrfters. 

bar  in  1792.  He  practiced  in  vari 
ous  parts  of  Virginia,  chiefly  at 
Richmond,  but  won  his  first  real 
distinction  in  the  famous  trial  of 
Aaron  Burr  for  high  treason,  at 
Richmond,  in  1807.  His  forensic 
ability  and  his  eloquence  on  that 
occasion  gave  him  at  once  a  national 
reputation.  He  was  Attorney-Gen 
eral  of  the  United  States  during 
three  successive  Presidential  terms, 
1817-1828.  After  retiring  from  the 
office  of  Attorney-General,  in  1828, 
he  removed  to  Baltimore,  where  he 
resided  for  the  remainder  of  his  life, 
practicing  in  the  courts  of  that  city 
and  in  the  Supreme  Court  at  Wash 
ington.  Few  American  statesmen 
of  equal  standing  have  shown  such 
decided  marks  of  refined  and  ele 
gant  culture  as  Mr.  Wirt;  and  had 
he  given  himself  to  a  life  of  letters, 
he  would  have  won  great  distinc 
tion  as  a  writer.  His  publications 
were,  "Letters  of  the  British  Spy." 
D  597 


political  'SQriters  anD  Ibtetorians. 

published  originally  in  a  Richmond 
paper,  and  purporting  to  be  written 
by  an  Englishman  traveling 
through  Virginia  and  describing 
what  he  saw;  "The  Rainbow,"  a 
series  of  essays  published  originally 
in  the  Richmond  Inquirer;  "The 
Arguments  in  the  Trial  of  Burr;" 
"The  Old  Bachelor,"  a  collection  of 
essays;  "The  Life  of  Patrick  Hen 
ry."  Mr.  Wirt  published  also  nu 
merous  addresses  on  pu'blic  occa 
sions.  One  of  these,  delivered  be 
fore  Rutgers  College,  New  Bruns 
wick.  N.  J.,  was  celebrated  for  its 
eloquence. 

If  scientific  writers  were  includ 
ed  in  these  sketches,  Maury  and 
Audubon  would  take  prominent 
place,  but  these,  with  number 
less  specialists  who  have  shown 
marked  ability  in  particular  fields 
of  research,  must  find  adequate 
consideration  elsewhere. 

In  concluding  these  too  imper- 
598 


1bi0torical  Writers. 

feet  sketches  the  writer  is  painfully 
aware  of  many  omissions,  and  in 
some  cases  of  having  made  too  lit 
tle  research.  The  writing  has  been 
done  in  "brief  snatches  of  time" 
taken  from  more  serious  employ 
ment,  and  cannot  claim  to  be  in  any 
sense  complete.  Nevertheless  a 
love  for  the  subject  and  the  interest 
of  a  few  friends  have  been  incen 
tives  to  continue  the  pleasant  task 
until  the  work  has  in  a  measure 
fulfilled  the  limits  originally  set  for 
the  undertaking.  If  a  few  shall  be 
encouraged  to  take  more  interest  in 
their  own  Southland  and  her  ear 
lier  intellectual  struggles,  and  shall 
aspire  to  larger  efforts  not  only  in 
these  but  in  all  true  and  noble  lines, 
as  true  Southerners  —  as  true  and 
patriotic  Americans  —  then  the  ef 
forts  of  this  writer  shall  not  have 
been  in  vain — the  sequel  need  not 
be  written  :  "Love's  labor's  lost." 
599 


